


Kenopsia

by Cockbite (personalized_radio), myriadus



Category: The Creatures | Cow Chop RPF
Genre: Conflict, Ghosts, Happy Halloween!, Haunted Hotel Fic, Lots and Lots of Conflict, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-27
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-23 09:49:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 79,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12504644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/personalized_radio/pseuds/Cockbite, https://archiveofourown.org/users/myriadus/pseuds/myriadus
Summary: kenopsian.the eerie, forlorn atmosphere of a place that’s usually bustling with people but is now abandoned and quiet—a school hallway in the evening, an unlit office on a weekend, vacant fairgrounds—an emotional afterimage that makes it seem not just empty but hyper-empty, with a total population in the negative, who are so conspicuously absent they glow like neon signs.





	1. Night 1

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHH IT STARTS!!!!!
> 
> we just wanted to say that this was SO FUN to write and WE'RE BOTH EXCITED WE GOT TO COLLAB!!!!!!
> 
> hope you like it <3
> 
> [Here's a link to some audio made based off the fic](https://environment-other.ambient-mixer.com/kenopsia) if you want to get a lil spooky with it!

There’s a big long list of things that Brett has inwardly (and lovingly) coined _All the Worst Fucking Things That Could Go Wrong On A Road Trip,_ and _Van Breaking Down in the Middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere_ is definitely in the top five. It’s right next to _Took a Wrong Turn and Ended Up Four Hundred Miles Too North_ and _Aleks and James Break the Fucking Window_ , and as the engine sputters at him, he gives it a quick hard slap on the dashboard and mutters, “You have got to be _fuck_ ing kidding me.”

It’s not kidding him; the engine makes another unsavory noise, and Brett has to take another long breath as he squints out the window. They’d been on the same long, deserted stretch of backroad for a while now and he isn’t expecting to see much but as he cranes his neck, looks out and around, he finds what looks like a larger-sized house with a big parking lot off to the side if he squints hard through the trees. It’s only got one light on, which is what caught his attention, and it’s kind of creepy looking, but it’s better than pulling into the shoulder without a single person or building in sight.

Brett lets out a sigh and turns the wheel, carefully takes them into the parking lot just as the engine gives him one last heroic groan and then dies, jerking the van hard once before it settles

Almost poetic, in how cliché it is. The lights even flicker a few times before going out.

“Fuck,” he says under his breath.

It takes the patience of a saint to do pretty much all of what Brett does on a daily basis, so he just leans back in his seat and inhales through his nose, deep calming breaths before all hell starts to break loose from the backseat, and the occupants sitting there.

“Yo, why’d we stop?” Aleks says from the back, and Brett gives himself a quick countdown - three, two one - where he pretends he lives in a world not full of the sweet voice of one mildly inconvenienced James Wilson before that fantasy is shattered.

“Brett, what the fuck, man?” James says, like the loudness will somehow make the van start again, and then he’s between the two front seats, looking at Brett with furrowed eyebrows and a small frown that does not bode well for that patience Brett is so proud of.

“I think the engine’s dead,” Brett pats the dash, “Or maybe just overheated. Trev, grab the flashlight,”

“ _Dead_?” James flops back into his seat behind Brett, shaking the whole van, “Man, it’s -” he pauses for a second, “It’s one in the goddamn morning, dude! We can’t be dead in the water!”

“I can’t control the engine, James,” Brett says, keeping his tone even, “Someone get the damn flashlight,”

He shoves the door open and gets out before James has time to say anything else, leaving the door open and the van dinging quietly to alert them that it’s not closed properly.

Trevor’s still rustling around near the back, half bent over the seat as he moves things around; their bags, the safety kit that came with the rental, among a bunch of other shit, and Brett leans with his arms on the top of the van as he watches for a moment until Trevor emerges again. He’s got a huge block of a flashlight in both his hands, and he holds it out with an eyebrow raised.

“Good?”

“Ought to be,” Brett replies, takes it. It’s got a hefty weight to it, and he circles around and back to the front, sets it down on top of the van as he flips the switch for the hood. Immediately there’s the acrid smell of burnt rubber and hot metal, and he wrinkles his nose against it as he waves a hand in front of his face.

“Jesus Christ,” he says, coughing. “That’s a fucking stink.” As soon as he can pick the flashlight up again he’s peering at the engine, swinging the light around to try and see if he can pick out the source of the problem. “Looks like we might be in trouble, boys,” he says after a moment, leans back.

“Great,” and yep, James sounds even more loud and irritable than he had initially. “That’s fucking awesome, man.”

“I promise that your excitement is thoroughly contagious, and very appreciated,” Brett says dryly, slams the hood down again. He’s not necessarily a mechanic, but he’d like to think that he can at least sort of spot the problem in a broken down engine. Not the case today, it would seem. He’ll look again when the engine has cooled. “Let me give Lindsey a quick call, let her know we might be delayed.”

“ _Might be_ ,” James grumbles, sitting back in his seat with a look on his face that tells Brett he won’t be hearing the end of this for a long time.

Sighing, he pulls his phone out of his pocket and swipes in his password so he can find Lindsey’s number.

There’s a pop of static when he tilts the top of the screen against his ear, and Brett is convinced the night is going to end with a broken phone _and_ a broken van - and also a broken Brett, at this point - but, because sometimes life doesn’t hate him as much as he hates it, the call goes through and rings twice before she picks up.

“Hey,” she says, sounding a little distant, “What’s up?”

“Our van broke down,” he says, trying not to let her know how annoyed he actually is. He’d been driving for _hours_ , since he and James had switched places around noon, and he’s fucking _tired_. The GPS had said they still had two hours before they hit their destination so he’d kept the good fight going but, now, he regrets it and mostly just wants to fucking sleep.

“That...is not the best news you could have shared,” she says, sounding both sympathetic and annoyed in equal measure, “I’m sure the boys aren’t pleased.”

“You know them so well,” he agrees, watching as Aleks shoves at Trevor until all three of them pile out of the van with Joe and immediately spread out like this is a goddamn party and not a creepy, dark parking lot.

“We’re…” she hesitates, “Probably four hours out. We’ll grab you on the way,”

“There’s not enough room in your van,” he sighs, loud and deep and containing an echo of how very much his life sucks, “It looks like we pulled into some hotel or something,” he takes a closer look at the house and, yeah, there’s a ‘rooms available’ sign in flickering, seedy green neon in the window that’s washed out by the light above the door - just barely bright enough for him to make out from the road if he squints, “We’ve got time. We’ll stay here tonight, call up a mechanic. Worst case, we call an Uber and finally go bankrupt paying the fee.”

She laughs, soft with the shit reception between their phones, “Okay, if you’re sure. Call tomorrow, okay? Let us know you didn’t stop at Bates Motel.”

“I hope we did,” he says darkly, watching as Joe tries to convince James not to do something with hand movements alone just before James disappears into the hotel, Aleks close on his heels while Trevor and Joe look between the van - and Brett - and the door in concern.

“Bye, Brett,” she says, amused. “Enjoy your last night with your boys before you spend three days not even getting to see them. We’re booked solid.”

He hums in agreement, debating to himself if he wants to just cause the van to explode, killing him instantly, or actually go into the hotel with the others. Joe had made his choice and disappeared into the building while Brett had been distracted imaging the sweet release of death, but Trevor is still awkwardly sticking it out and waiting for Brett.

She hangs up first and he slips his phone back into his pocket, locks up the van with all of their shit still in it - because fuck them, they can come back out with the keys if they want their laptops, he bets this place doesn’t even have fucking WiFi - and makes his way over just as the guys all pile back out, looking not too pleased with whatever they had found.

“What’s the consensus?”

Everyone turns to look at the same time, and then as one look over at James, who’s pointing at the entrance to the hotel. He’s already looking like he wants to start an argument, or at least a disagreement, and not for the first time today Brett has to brace himself for whichever one it is.

“Dude, do you not _see_ this fucking place? We’re in the middle of Podunk, America, and we’re just supposed to stay here?” James shakes his head, lips pursed. “Dude, like, okay, maybe from far away it looked fine but up close this looks like a fucking horror movie. It’s got a fucking empty front desk, man!”

“Wow, I can’t imagine why the front desk would be unoccupied at…” Brett checks his phone. “...almost one-thirty in the morning.”

“Fuck you, hotel desks are _always_ occupied - that’s the goddamn point, Brett!”

Brett has a quip about James being unusually knowledgeable on what goes on in hotels just waiting on the tip of his tongue, probably something about prostitutes really, but a backtrack of the last six or so years lets it die. Okay, so maybe they all have some experience with hotels, but that doesn’t change the fact that strolling into the place in the middle of the night would mean there’s not a lot of employees around. James is probably just being his usual self, which tends to be ‘find the worst option and stick to it.’ Ah, pessimism. Brett knows it well, though he doesn’t often get to partake.

“All I’m saying is, we roll in before it’s even dawn, there’s not gonna be a lot of people around,” Brett says patiently, or at least with as much patience as he can muster. “You’re working yourself up for nothing. I’m fucking tired, I’m cranky as hell, and Linds said they wouldn’t be here for another four hours. We can just stay for the night.”

James points a finger. “This is how people _die._ This is exactly how horror movies start.”

This is far from the first time since they’ve met, let alone since they’ve started dating, that James has tried saying ‘no’ at the top of his lungs until the fight ends in his favor, but Brett’s holding his ground on this one. From next to him, surprisingly, Trevor’s the one who lends a hand, shrugging his shoulders as he looks up at the second story of the hotel.

“Dude, it can’t be that bad,” he says after a moment, and Brett can see the starlight reflected in his eyes. “And I’m fucking tired, too. We can just stay for the night, like Brett said.”

“There’s not much else we _can_ do.” Joe’s finally joined the conversation, and from next to him Aleks sticks his hands in his pockets. He’s been surprisingly quiet the whole time, but he’s rarely one for arguments if it’s not for the sake of amusement or a video, so Brett’s not too surprised. “I mean… we can’t just sit in the van all night. Or, well, we could, but I don’t think any of us would like it. It won’t even turn on.”

“No, it will not,” Brett says, and puts his hands on his hips. “All in favor of spooky weird death hotel for the rest of the night?”

Four hands raise, and James glowers at him.

“Fine,” he says, and crosses his arms. “Don’t come _crying to me_ when we all get chased by a fuckin’ ax murderer or, or fucking Jack Nicholson or whatever.”

“Ax murdering Jack Nicholson,” Aleks says at last, and he’s got a grin on his face as James rounds on him.

“That’s the _point,_ asshole. Thanks.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” Aleks slaps his back and then turns back to Brett, “But, seriously, man, it’s creepy as fuck in there. You go first.”

“Are you kidding me,” Brett says flatly, staring at him, and Aleks leans over and wraps a hand around his bicep - or tries to. When his hand can barely curl enough to be considered ‘cupped’, Aleks raises an eyebrow as if to say _point proven_. Brett, shaking his head, goes inside first.

James wasn’t lying - it _is_ creepy as hell, and the front desk is empty. There’s a book open and facing them with little boxes, like an old-fashioned registry, and a dusty bell sitting next to it along with an old fountain pen. There’s a grand staircase a few yards into the room that, presumably, leads up to the second floor with the front desk to the left and a dark room that Brett is pretty sure has couches and a fireplace that isn’t lit to the right. To either side of the staircases are long, dark halls - barely lit by dim candles along the walls and Brett peers deeper down one and still can’t see the end. Weird, but he’d seen Doctor Who before. Bigger on the inside, he guesses, and walks over to the front desk to ring the bell.

“Brett!” James hisses, alarmed, and Brett would be lying if he said that it wasn’t a _little_ funny that James was so fucking scared of an old, creepy hotel.

“Relax,” He turns back around, leans against the desk while he waits for an employee to show up, and tries to keep the smile off his face. James has managed to wedge himself into the middle of the others, Joe at his back and Aleks and Trevor to either side of him. If there _was_ an axe murderer, James obviously wouldn’t be performing any heroic sacrifices to save his best friends and loved ones.

“ _You_ relax,” James snaps, and Brett has a solid five seconds to try not to find him endearing before someone _else_ says “Sorry for the wait, gentlemen,” in such a _dying old man_ voice that all five of them jump out of their goddamn skin.

“Jesus Christ—” Brett barely manages to taper down the shock that’s stuck on the rough of his mouth as he tries for a charming grin, knowing full well that it’s an unholy time for anyone to be up.

There’s an elderly man standing behind the desk now, must’ve snuck up while they were all preoccupied with James; his appearance matches his voice, sagging skin and red-rimmed eyes, the sort of wispy white hair that makes it look like it might as well not be there at all.

He’s blinking slowly at all of them, expectant, but he’s smiling, which is… a little comforting, maybe, and Brett clears his throat. “Sorry, no, hey! Yeah. No problem, uh, we’re sorry for how late it is.” He clears his throat again, pitches his voice into a question. “Can we, uh, get a room?”

“Rooms,” Aleks says quickly, and Brett nods.

“Rooms.”

“Of course,” the man says, and it sends an uncomfortable shiver down Brett’s spine that he’s not expecting. Brett’s far from a cowardly man, but there’s something about this old guy that just feels off. They all watch as gnarled old fingers pick up a pen, start to hover the tip of it over the ledger. “Never you mind the time, we’re always welcoming guests. How many?”

“...rooms, or people?” Brett asks after a second or two, and the man chuckles.

“Rooms, I would say.”

Brett looks over his shoulder, glances at Joe and Trevor specifically. He already knows that he, James, and Aleks are all fine with one bed, but he also knows Trevor can be weird about sharing rooms or beds depending on what sort of mood he’s in. Joe can pretty much fit anywhere; they’ve made him a bed in the bathtub before, when times were particularly tough, so he’s sure that Joe wouldn’t mind sharing a bed if he had to. Trevor’s the picky one, though, and sure enough, Trevor holds up three fingers and pulls a pleading sort of face.

“Three,” Brett says immediately, turning back around. “Uh, one king and then two singles, if you have the space.”

“We always have the space,” the old man says easily, and starts writing something in the book. There’s nothing ominous about his tone, or the words, but something uneasy settles in Brett’s stomach anyway. Loathe though he is to admit it, maybe James had been right. Still, they don’t really have much of a choice. “We rarely have any guests come along this time of year. Not a very good vacation spot, I’m afraid. Name?”

“Brett Hundley.”

“Thank you. No, people typically come calling in the summertime. But we always have room for such polite young folk.” His eyes flick up, though, and he gazes at Brett thoughtfully for a moment when he’s finished writing. “You seem like you might have a bit of a temper on you, though.”

Brett, who in his own opinion has only been gracious and kind to the old man, can’t help but furrow his eyebrows at that one. James is the one with the _temper_ , Brett’s just the one who can… lose it, on occasion, but that tends to just make him cranky and passive-aggressive. He wouldn’t call it a _temper_ so much as a very short threshold for certain flavors of bullshit. What a weird thing to say to a stranger.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and takes the key that’s offered to him. “Sometimes, I guess.”

The old man hums, and it nods his whole head.

“We old ones, we can tell these things,” he says, and he sounds like he’s whistling at this point, voice so soft that Brett actually has to strain to hear. “Let me show you to your rooms.”

“No, that’s okay,” Brett says quickly, “We can find them ourselves. You need my card number for payment or?”

“Nonsense,” the old man comes around the desk and he’s as gnarled as his fingers are, nearly bent in half with a buttoned up white shirt and a pair of slacks held up with a belt strapped so small that he must have had to make the hole himself. Brett could probably have wrapped his hands around his waist and been able to touch his fingertips together. “We accept payment at the _end_ of the stay, if it’s all the same to you.”

“Oh. Uh. Okay.”

He is...not the _slowest_ , but Brett definitely looks up at the ceiling for patience after he’s passed, and then looks at James and Aleks as if they can somehow give him the energy he needs to continue on this plane of existence.

Aleks gives him a sympathetic look, but James has an _I told you so_ look in his eye that Brett wants to wipe off his face with a kiss or a fist - he hasn’t quite decided yet.

“Don’t look so worried, young man,” The old man pats Joe’s arm as he passes, “Quite the jumpy one, aren’t you?”

“Sorry, sir,” Joe laughs awkwardly, his usual smile in place, “Your hotel is just kinda...uh...”

“Creepy?” The old man says seriously, and then laughs hoarsely when Joe’s face shifts with panic, “You aren’t the first to say that, young man.”

Brett raises an eyebrow, coming to join James and Aleks as they all slowly move after the old man. They….could probably have been at their rooms by now, if he had just let them go.

“This is your fault,” James says quietly, but one of his hands finds Brett’s wrist. He really _is_ nervous, and Brett feels a little bad about making fun of him earlier, so he nudges him a little and twists his hand to catch James’. They aren’t usually a _hand-holding_ kind of - trio, but Brett can at least give in a _little_ , since James is gonna spend the night in the spooky weird death hotel. The least he can do is be a reassuring boyfriend.

The old man leads them past the grand staircase and then turns them down the dimly lit hallway. The deeper they go, creeping slowly into the dark, the closer James presses, until he’s squeezing Brett’s arm hard enough to hurt. On his other side, Aleks isn’t _quite_ at the same point that James is at, but Brett can feel how tense he is every time they brush against each other.

“This is your room, sir,” the man finally stops, tapping one of his shaking fingers on the number plate - number 08.

“Thanks,” Brett says, because neither Aleks nor James are going to speak up. The walk from the front desk to their room felt longer than it should have, given how the hotel hadn’t looked _that_ big from the front, but they’re tired and a little creeped out. That could’ve just as easily been the reason, and Brett’s not going to dwell on it any more than he has to. It’s fucking weird, is what it is, but he’s not going to let it ruin his whole night.

There’s an awkward moment of silence, and then Aleks is the one to speak up.

“Uh, yeah,” he says, and clears his throat. “Thanks. Thank you.”

“Sure,” James adds quietly, quieter than he usually _ever_ is, and he sounds too tense to say much else so Brett lets it slide. The old man just smiles up at them, in a way that doesn’t seem very friendly somehow. Brett feels almost like he’s a little insect under a microscope, being observed and recorded, and making Brett feel _little_ is an incredibly difficult task.

“Of course,” the old man says, wavering but cordial, and he must’ve noticed James’ unease because he gives him a light tap on the elbow; Brett can feel him flinch away from it. “Buck up, young man.” He smiles again. “Don’t go working yourself up over nothing.”

James frowns at him, eyebrows going down, and he doesn’t have much else to say to that.

The old man turns, winks at Aleks. “You ought to keep an eye on those two. Awfully easy these days to lose track of people if you’re not paying attention.”

_What the fuck,_ Brett thinks to himself, but has the good decency to not say it out loud. Judging by both Joe and Trevor’s expressions, one or both were on the verge of saying it themselves. Trevor’s looking right at Brett with his eyebrows raised, pleading, and Brett has to clear his throat again, scratch at the nape of his own neck.

“Well, uh, thank you,” he says again, slow and unsure as he lowers his hand, “for the. The advice. It was very… profound. We’re going to head to bed now, if that’s all the same to you.”

The old man’s still smiling, and he nods his head, almost a bow. He’s still shaking gently, still feeble looking, but Brett can’t shake that sense of unease.

“Enjoy your stay,” he says, and they watch as he turns towards Joe and Trevor and they both unconsciously take a bit of a step back. “Come along, your rooms are next. You look exhausted, young man,” he adds, directed at Trevor, and Trevor looks like he wants nothing more than to bolt.

“Yeah, I’m fucki—” He catches himself, coughs once. “I’m tired, yeah. Real tired. I’d really like to, you know, get to bed.” He looks over at Brett, and there’s still that sense of unease in his expression. “We can go get our stuff out of the van and then go to sleep?”

That’s something that hadn’t quite occurred to him, and Brett nods.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll go with Trev and we’ll pick up some shit from the bags,” he says, nudges at James and Aleks. “Just go inside, I’ll be right back. Yeah?”

They both look at him with a mixture of uncertainty and confusion, but he can see where Aleks’ fingers carefully thread together with James’ and then squeeze, a little moment of reassurance that has James look from Aleks to Brett and then back again.

“Yeah,” he says, and swallows. “Yeah, okay, sounds good to me.”

Brett holds the key up to show them that he has it, eyebrows raised, and then shoves it into his pocket. They both still look like they’d rather he stay, but to his surprise neither one offers up any kind of argument. Aleks just tugs at James’ hand once and then they’re in the room, door clicking shut behind them.

It’s easy enough to get from their room to Joe and Trevor’s; both rooms are just down the hall, on opposite sides of each other - 16 and 18 - and the old man taps the first one and nods at Joe, then the second one, which he shows Trevor. Joe looks _real_ uneasy to have to stay in the room by himself, especially while Trevor and Brett both head for the van, but he gives them both his friendly little grin as he turns the knob.

“It’s cool,” he says, “I’ll just play some music or something. I think I’m just creeped out by how late it is.”

After that the old man gives them one more shaky little nod, leaves them with one last thought.

“This old place might have a few creaks and moans,” he warns, shakes one gnarled finger as he smiles at them again. “But don’t let it scare you; it’s almost as old as I am. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Thanks for the advice,” Brett says, trying to keep his tone somewhere between polite and _please fucking leave already._ If the old man gets the hint, he doesn’t give it any notice. They all just watch as he hobbles back down the hallway, and as soon as he turns the corner, Trevor’s speaking.

“What the fuck,” he says, points a finger and looks at Brett. “What the fuck, dude. Is this some fucking joke? He’s creepy as hell!”

“Just calm down,” Brett says patiently, and folds his arms again. “Weird creepy old guys don’t mean instant death.”

“Weird creepy old guys in the middle of Buttfuck, Nowhere might!” Trevor argues immediately. “Dude, I think James was right, I want out of this place as soon as freaking possible, I’m way creeped out.”

“I don’t like it either,” Joe says quietly after a moment, but he shrugs. “At least it’s just for the night, though.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Brett frowns, looks up and down the halls, “Be careful, though, Joe. We’ll be back in a few minutes, don’t go wandering.”

“Are you kidding?” Joe stares at him, wide eyed, “I’m not leaving my room, man.”

“That’s the spirit,” Brett pats his shoulder and then heads back down the hall with long, confident strides. He isn’t gonna let this place cow him.

Trevor follows close behind, not nearly as close as James had been but still not far enough that Brett can’t feel his body heat. They walk for - wow, yeah, they walk for a lot longer than Brett remembers originally walking and he’s about to say something about it, ask if they somehow took a wrong turn in a straight fucking hallway, when he finally sees the front door appear, that ‘rooms available’ neon sign turned off, now.

“Is it just me, or,” Trevor starts, and then hesitates and doesn’t speak again until they’ve left the hotel and are close to the van, “Is it just me, or is this place fucking _wrong_?”

“Trev, it’s just a hotel,” Brett says instead of _hell yes, something is wrong with it_.

“I dunno, man,” Trevor lowers his voice, “This whole place feels...off. You don’t feel it, Brett?”

“Nah,” Brett lies, unlocks the van and pulls the side door open so he can grab the big overnight bag they’d all tossed their first night’s supplies into. They’d _planned_ on all sleeping on the floor of Geoff’s place before actually getting to their hotel during the first day of the con, but it looks like that plan has fallen through. He’ll have to text Geoff and let him know that they wouldn’t be coming.

“You _sure_?” Trevor presses, still in that quiet voice, and Brett manages to yank the bag free from the junk that had piled on top of it during the drive with the small shot of annoyance that had spiked up in him.

“ _Yes_ , Trev, Jesus. Would it make you feel better if I said _no, the place is haunted as fuck_?”

“No,” Trevor crosses his arms, looking to the side as Brett closes the side door and locks the van up again, “Guess not.”

“Okay, then,” Brett pauses, adjust the bag, _refuses_ to feel bad for snapping and then gives in and hits Trevor’s shoulder lightly, “Hey, James isn’t the only one that needs to buck up. Worse comes to worse, you can come fuckin’ sleep with us. Safety in numbers, yeah?”

“You sure?” Trevor perks up a little, actually looking a little relieved, and Brett had been joking but he wasn’t gonna say that _now_.

“Yeah, man,” He shrugs the bag into a better position, “It’s a king. You’ll fit. Now, let’s get this shit to everyone so we can all go to fucking sleep. Figures _we’re_ the ones that had to come back out to get it.”

“What, did you think _James_ was gonna do it?” Trevor teases, looking up for a few jokes again, and Brett smiles. It’s a shitty situation - but they all just need to keep their spirits up. They’d been in worse spots than this.

The walk back to the hotel feels - shorter, somehow, and the front desk is empty when they come back in, but Brett isn’t gonna ring the bell again just to say goodnight, so he walks Trevor back to his room and helps him dig his stuff out of the bag.

“Think you can handle giving Joe his shit?” Brett raises an eyebrow, laughs a little when Trevor only glares and snatches Joe’s clothes out of Brett’s hand.

“ _Yes_ , asshole.”

“Just checking,” he reaches out and ruffles his hair up before he can be stopped, because he is a _monster_ , and Trevor lets him do it with a look of defeat on his tired face.

“Brett, why?”

“Goodnight, man,” Brett starts to walk away, backwards so he can give him a thumbs up, “Sweet dreams.”

“Fuck you,” Trevor calls back, “I hope you have the worst night of your life.”

“Thanks, bro.”

Brett turns on his heels when Trevor finally goes to Joe’s door and picks up the pace.

Somehow, it feels like a full five minutes of long steps before he makes it back to 08. The hallways aren’t very winding, but they’re… empty, in a way that they probably shouldn’t be. It makes him feel skittish, makes him hurry a little faster than he normally might to get back to their room, and there’s almost a feeling like he’s being watched. He turns to look over his shoulder, but there’s nothing there, and he frowns. The fuck?

The lock clicks as he turns the key, and he quietly slips inside. James and Aleks are already on the bed, and he can’t help the small smile as he takes in the sight of it.

James is underneath Aleks, head cushioned up in all the pillow and his thick hair fanned out underneath him like a flower; Aleks is sitting calmly on his waist, just running his hands up and down James' sides and muttering too soft for Brett to hear. It looks soothing, looks like Aleks is trying to talk James back down because the tension in all of James' muscles is clear. He looks like he’s ready to bolt, but he catches sight of Brett standing in the doorway and all of his breath whooshes out of him in a relieved sigh. Aleks looks up too, turns to see what James is looking at and then he’s grinning and, shit. Hotel or not, it still kind of felt like _home_ with that smile aimed at him.

“Took you long enough, old man,” Aleks says quietly, and Brett rolls his eyes, walks over to the bed to dump their bag on top of the sheets. They both watch, twin pairs of eyes like old paintings, not moving otherwise. “Did you and Trevor go all the way back to LA to get our shit?”

“I don’t think I even register in the scope of _old_ anymore, after what we’ve seen today,” Brett points out, trying to come off as sour and instead a little too sweet. Damn the two of them. When they’re not fucking around, they suck all the bad feelings and aggression right out of his chest, make him feel warm and fond. “At least I’m younger than the damn _building_.”

“Not by much,” Aleks retorts immediately, but his hands are still running up and down James' side. He doesn’t look much calmer, his big eyes watching all of Brett’s motions in a way that reminds Brett of a scared bunny rabbit, nose twitching and eyes darting around. He’s never seen James quite like this before, and he settles down on the edge of the mattress, brushes at some of James’ hair with his hand. It’s soft to the touch, even where it’s tangled. He shifts again, trails his hand down so he can cup the side of James’ fuzzy cheek.

“What’s up with you?” he asks, tries to be gentle about it. James swallows and looks back up at Aleks before he answers.

“I dunno, man. This place has me all sorts of fucked up. I just… I don’t like it here.”

“That much was obvious,” Brett says, and it’s teasing but James’ eyebrows come together anyway. Brett immediately backtracks. “I just mean that you haven’t exactly made it a secret that you don’t want to be here. You know?”

James looks like he wants to argue for a second, but Aleks, blessed Aleks, starts moving his hands again, slips them quietly under James’ t-shirt. Brett can see his hands trailing, working gentle lines up and down his ribs with the back of his fingers, with the tips of his nails and James inhales a bit too sharply, switches his gaze to glare half-heartedly up at Aleks. It’s clear he knows what Aleks is doing, but he doesn’t make any motion to stop him.

Brett finally leans in, again moves his hand so he can cup at James’ chin and lift it a little, press a kiss to pouting lips.

“Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?” he asks quietly, lets his breath gust over James’ lips before he kisses him again, catches James’ bottom lip in something gentle and loving.

James sighs into the kiss, one palm coming to press against Brett’s cheek, fingers curling along his jaw, guiding him closer and Brett goes easy. The kiss doesn’t get hard or rough, but Brett can feel James’ apprehension and does his best to appease him. There’s a small part of him that’s a little annoyed that James is overreacting so much, but getting annoyed never works with James. Besides, Brett wouldn’t turn his nose up to getting to be some sort of support to either James or Aleks.

James pulls away first, blinking slow, and Brett can’t help but smile at the doe-eyed look on his face, wide eyes and a small, nervous frown that Brett wants to kiss away.

“Distract me?” James asks, looking from Brett to Aleks and then back, “I just don’t wanna fuckin’ think about it, dude.”

“That,” Brett glances at Aleks, exchanges a look that says more than Brett really could put into words, and then kisses the spot where James’ brows had pressed together until his forehead is smooth again, “We can do.”

Aleks leans over James, hands still under his shirt, to catch his lips in a slow kiss of their own, and Brett takes the chance to slip a hand under Aleks’ shirt, too - slid a slow palm up Aleks’ spine and push his shirt up with it until he’s exposed his back and chest, his shirt bunched in his armpits.

Aleks makes a soft noise and Brett can’t tear his eyes off of them, the way James works his fingers through Aleks’ hair until he’s holding the back of his head. James arches a little into the hands under his shirt and Brett looks down, swallows when he sees that Aleks had decided to tease James’ nipples. He can see his fingers working through the thin material of James’ shirt, and he wants to see it without the shirt in the way.

“Hey,” He presses a kiss to Aleks’ shoulder, tugged at James’ shirt a little, “Wanna take these off?”

Aleks sits up, grinning a little at the annoyed sound James makes when Aleks pulls away, and lets Brett pull his shirt off. Aleks swings off James so he can shimmy out of his pants and boxers but when Brett tries to push at James’ shirt, James shakes his head, catches his wrist and moves it under his shirt instead.

“It’s, uh,” James licks his lips, looks away for not even a second, “It’s cold.”

Ah. One of those nights.

Brett doesn’t argue, just nods and sits up to pull his own shirt off, tossing it off the bed and unbutton his pants before he loses the will to resist the urge to lean over James, press kisses along his stomach over the shirt, nuzzling into the soft give and work on his pants instead. James doesn’t put up a fight about that, even lifts his hips to help, and then immediately reaches out for Aleks, pulls him closer so they can kiss again.

When Brett lays his head down on his stomach he can just make out James’ heart thumping loudly in his chest, and he hums softly at the sound of it. It’s a calming noise that brings a small grin to his lips as he carefully slips James’ button out, tugs at the zipper. Then he’s lifting his head again to press another kiss to the skin he finds there when he gently pulls the flaps of his jeans down. After that he’s tugging them down, leaving James in boxers and a t-shirt. It’s musky there, the smell of sweat in the crease of thigh and groin when he presses his nose in close.

He can hear the sound of the other two breaking apart as James huffs out a breath, sounding strained.

“Brett,” he says, and Brett smiles against the thin cotton of James’ boxers.

“Yes?”

“Don’t _yes_ me,” and yep, James gives an almost imperceptible nudge of his hips. It’s obvious what he wants, and Brett does plan on giving it, but who would he be if he didn’t tease a little bit? He reaches out, smoothes some of the creases of James’ boxers with his thumbs. “Brett, fuckin’, _stop,_ man.”

“Stop what?” Brett asks innocently, lets his breath soak through the fabric until James gives another nudge again. He can hear Aleks chucking above him, and when he flicks his eyes up he can catch the half-hearted scowl on James’ face, the smug look on Aleks’. Aleks still has a hand cupping James’ face, rubbing gentle circles into his cheek just above the line of his beard. It’s a small but intimate little act, and Brett can’t help but grin at it.

“You know what,” James whines, and nudges his hips again. “‘Distract me’ doesn’t mean, like, torture me. You’re just being a dick.”

“Hmm,” Brett murmurs thoughtfully, lets it gust over James’ crotch, feels how he twitches against it. “Telling the guy who’s about to blow you that he’s a dick. Seems like a promising tactic. Does it usually work well for you?”

“ _Brett._ ” James sounds tense, almost annoyed. “Come on, man. Why are you being so fuckin’ obnoxious?”

He has a pretty limited view, but he can see how Aleks is pressing his nose into the side of James’ head to hide what looks like a smile. It crinkles up his eyes like it always does. By contrast, James’ are wide, eyebrows turned down as he stares at Brett with a wrinkled nose, an expression of displeasure. Brett can’t help the laughter. It comes out a bit more mocking than he had intended, but he doesn’t correct it.

“You’re impatient,” he says, and nuzzles into the dark hair just above James’ waistline. “You could at least say _please_.”

“You’re such an asshole,” James complains, and there’s almost a spike of annoyance again because usually they play this game and James _relents,_ he rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically and says _please_ but tonight he seems to only want to argue and complain. It’s aggravating, but Brett relents at last, pulls James’ boxers down with a little bit more force than he might’ve intended.

James squawks at him, startled.

“ _Brett,_ what the fuck?”

“A second ago you were complaining about how I wasn’t blowing you fast enough, now you’re bitching that I’m going _too_ fast? Make up your damn mind, James,” Brett says, just this side of tight, and Aleks immediately intervenes, slips down the bed to card his fingers into where Brett’s hair is getting a bit too long. He has warm hands, slender hands that pet back some of the fight and instead soothe.

“You guys, just. Just chill,” Aleks says, and Brett leans into the touch. “Like, I know that’s your thing or whatever, but can we put away the cock fight for like _maybe_ thirty whole seconds?”

“I’ll show you a cock fight,” James mutters, sounding bitter, and Brett has a retort on the tip of his tongue that’s scratched gently away by Aleks’ hands. He feels like he’s being petted into submission like an angry dog, growling and baring fangs with his lips pulled back.

Aleks calms him, presses a kiss to his lips and then lets go, moves back up to James to kiss away the wrinkles between his eyes. There’s not usually such a need for mediation like this, and Brett swallows and locks eyes with James. There’s plenty of things he could say, and part of them stem from a shame he didn’t realize he had until he remembers how happy they’d been only minutes before. But then, James _isn’t_ happy, and Brett had to go and be an asshole for no good reason while James is so on edge.

“Sorry,” he mutters, looking down again. It takes a second, but James echoes the apology.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

“Okay, cool, we’ve moved on from first grade,” Aleks says. “Now kiss and make up.”

Brett breathes out through his nose a touch too hard, annoyed anyway, but he crawls up the bed again, presses a kiss to James’ mouth that makes him inhale sharply, arch his back into it. He could make it mean, bite a little bit or roll his hips, but instead he just goes down on a forearm, uses the other hand to tilt James’ head up.

“There,” he says when they pull apart, and James’ cheeks have gone pink. “Am I appropriately forgiven now?”

“Yeah,” James says breathlessly. “Yeah, you’re—uh, I actually don’t even remember what we were arguing about now. So.”

“Then my work here is done,” Brett replies, kisses him again. “Now do you want that fuckin’ blowjob or not?”

He can see the bob of James’ Adam’s apple as he swallows.

“Do you…” He can see the hesitation in James’ eyes, can see how he looks away for a second and seems to consider his next words. “Do you still… _want_ to give me a blowjob?”

“James,” Brett says, manages to make it sound patient, “there are few things that reconcile an argument in bed better than a blowjob.” When that doesn’t get James to laugh like his jokes in bed usually do, Brett resists the urge to roll his eyes. “ _Yes._ I would still very much like to blow you. Believe it or not.”

There’s an unhappy line forming between James’ eyes again, and Brett makes a noise between a sigh and a growl, hauls himself back up the bed to kiss it away.

“What’s up with you?” he murmurs against James’ skin. “Usually you give as good as you get. And not just in the sex way.”

“I dunno,” James mumbles, but leans into the kiss anyway. It seems like he’s got something else on his mind, but then he bites it back and doesn’t say anything else. Brett’s curious about it, but doesn’t push. James is unusually vulnerable, and he ought to respect that.

From next to him Aleks lets out a little bewildered laugh; Brett can see him shaking his head out of his peripherals. His hands return to Brett’s hair again as he scooches down the bed, settles between James’ legs and leans happily into the touch despite the flare of anger still licking wildly at his chest. James isn’t exactly hard, but he can fix that real quick. From above him, Aleks returns to gentle kisses that serve to calm James down; it’s a night that ought to be dedicated to making him feel better, so Brett’s going to behave himself.

He’s kinder when he presses light kisses along his length, cups James in his hand and drags his tongue from base to tip. James’ hips jolt but he manages not to break Brett’s nose - which was a story all its own - and Brett finally feels - normal. This, he knows. He could work James’ body like an instrument on his worst nights, and now wasn’t his _worst_ , even with the argument still fresh in his mind.

He’s maybe a little faster taking the head into his mouth than usual, but he doesn’t _torture_ James and James makes soft, pleased little noises that slowly turn the angry fire biting his insides into something different. He keeps a loose fist around James’ base, uses the other hand to smooth over his soft, warm thighs and then slips it a little down to cup his balls. Maybe on another night he’d lower his mouth, eat James out, but James is too tense. He’s not easy to open on nights when he’s comfortable and Brett isn’t gonna try and frustrate all of them when he can’t calm James enough to get a finger or two in there so he just focuses on this, on swallowing him down deep, squeezing his balls slow and firm, hollow his cheeks and pull off with a pop that has James whimpering.

His hips are shaking with the effort James is putting into keeping them still, one of Aleks’ knees on him to keep him flat, and Brett really needs to do something for Aleks once they’re not in this goddamn hotel because he’s the real MVP of this situation.

He flicks his eyes up as he takes James back down, hums low so he can feel James start to tremble around him, and watches the way Aleks works him over with kisses, relaxes him so he can just lay and chill out. Aleks’ hand is on James’ chest again, fondling one nipple all gentle and nice, and something in Brett wants _rough_ , wants James crying under them, but that isn’t what _James_ wants tonight so Brett resists the urge to nip, to tease or pinch.

“Feels nice?” Aleks asks quietly, trailing his lips along James’ neck, and James opens his mouth to answer so Brett swallows hard, squeezes his balls and presses the knuckle of one hand just behind his sac, works it a little harder than necessary, enough to make James arch hard, cry out and slap a hand at Brett awkwardly until he gets a shaking grip at his hair.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Aleks says, fond, and looks down at Brett approvingly. Praise is always nice, especially when James isn’t able to give it himself, and Brett doesn’t want to preen but he kind of does.

“Brett,” James swallows, and Brett would smile if he didn’t have a mouth full of dick. James’ voice is a little weak, shaky, and it makes Brett want to go a little harder, make him sound closer to tears.

“You’re still kinda tense,” Aleks teases, rubs slow circles on James’ chest through his shirt, “Relax, babe. We got you.”

“Yeah?” James sighs and Brett actually does feel him relax a little, the tight grip on his hair loosening to something more gentle, petting instead of gripping, “Do you?”

“Duh,” Aleks scoffs, and then they’re kissing again and James makes this _noise_ and Brett has to close his eyes against his, his dick twitching in his pants.

He presses his knuckle up again, takes it easily when James jolts into his mouth, makes a noise close to the one Aleks had made him make, and he’s not entirely hard yet but he will be.

Brett likes giving oral; James is significantly weak to it, and Aleks isn’t much better, and Brett is good at it. He likes the way he can break them both apart under his lips, the way the right flick of his tongue can make them cry out like he’s changed their life.

This time is no different. He’s got James shuddering within a few minutes more, hard and petting through his hair with small, thankful, distracted pats of weak fingers. He can hear him panting, cut off little whines and whimpers into Aleks’ mouth, feel the way his feet are moving against the mattress, toes curling in the stiff sheets of the bed.

James has a lot of tells, when he’s close. His voice pitches higher as he tugs again at Brett’s hair, a short warning, a little shuddering pull of breath before his heels dig into the mattress as if he’s trying to arch himself away from Brett’s mouth and hands. His breath is coming in quicker, sharper as his hips move in gentle little thrusts that slip his dick further into Brett’s mouth.

There’s a part of Brett that wants to be cruel. He wants to wrap his fingers into a tight circle around the base of James’ dick, cut off the orgasm as soon as he’s close and make him writhe for it, make him beg until his voice is hoarse and he’s wailing loud enough for anyone else in the hotel to hear him. That’s a fun evening they’ve had before, and James certainly appreciated it the _last_ time Brett had done it, but it doesn’t seem like it’s in the cards tonight. It _could_ be, he could certainly try, but he can already tell from their earlier conversations that all it would do is start more arguing.

Instead he just uses that one knuckle to knead in a gentle rolling motion just behind his balls where he knows it’ll hurt, hurt in the _good_ way, swallows as much around James’ dick as he’s able until James’ mouth is opening and he’s making high noises of distress. It’s a beautiful thing, to watch from an outsider’s perspective, as James slowly falls apart at the seams, deconstructed underneath their hands and then left in pieces that can gently be kissed back together.

“Fuck,” James chokes, and Brett can tell that he’s trying not to fuck his mouth. “Ohh, fuck, _Brett_.”

Brett hums his response in a way he knows will make James shudder, and it does, it works wonders. James’ thighs are quivering as he starts to tug at Brett’s hair in warning; Brett knows that he’s close, knows all of that tension is going to roll off him in waves and Brett wants to hear it as much as he wants to see it, wants to taste it. He can hear Aleks whispering gentle, encouraging words as he swallows James down to the root, until his nose is buried in messy dark curls.

That’s what it takes. James comes right down Brett’s throat with a wet gasp, mouth open wide as he arches off the bed, fingers spasming in Brett’s hair as he pulls him as close as he can. He’s practically rutting against Brett’s mouth, letting out a long whine that Aleks shushes with a gentle kiss to his hairline. For a second Brett chokes, eyes squeezing shut as the hand behind James’ balls twists into the comforter instead, but then he gets a hold on it, swallows down as much as he can.

He can tell it’s a good orgasm because James goes completely lax, utterly spent and now looking to be coddled and paid attention to. Brett knows he’s enjoying the gentle twitch and pulse of all his muscles as he slowly comes down from the high, rides the aftershocks of it. Brett slowly pulls off with what he _knows_ is an obscene noise, and that gets a shudder from James _and_ Aleks.

He licks his lips, sighs.

“Well?”

“I appreciate you,” James mumbles happily. Yep. He wants to be coddled. “So very much. You’re the best. Come up here.”

“Oh, you want a come-flavored kiss now, I guess,” Brett says, but obediently crawls up the length of James’ body and then presses just a soft little peck against the corner of James’ mouth. It’s fond, loving, even while James giggles with his eyes closed.

“That’s gross. You’re gross.”

“You’re the one who asked for it,” Brett says through the smile that’s pressed up against James’ cheek. “You’re the gross one here.”

“I’ve got beard burn now, jackass.” James wriggles a little under him, words fond, gets more comfortable underneath all of their attention as Aleks pets his hair and Brett kisses him again. It’s easy to tell when James is warm and cozy and boneless; he gets hopelessly affectionate, and his hands come up to bury in Brett’s hair again, pull him down on top of him. Brett goes willingly with little more than a huff, not as annoyed as he had been previously. Aleks’ hands smooth through his hair and then slip down to his shoulders, knead into the hard lines of tension there.

It’s enough pressure in that soft bit of muscle that it makes him groan, makes him go a little boneless on top of James. There’s too many knots that have worked themselves into his muscles, but Aleks starts to knead them out of him a little bit, and thank God for him to be perfectly honest. Who knows how the night would’ve gone if he hadn’t been there to intervene.

“S’good,” he mutters into James’ skin, and Aleks chuckles softly. “Don’t stop.”

Aleks’ thumbs press hard and that wrings a gasp out of him, has James’ arms coming up to wrap around his waist and hold on tight. Brett’s still got a stirring between his legs, and Aleks’ ministrations on his back have him moving his hips in gentle rocking motions against James’ thigh, breathing a little hot and a little wet against his skin. There’s still a charge in the room, one that their argument and then James’ orgasm sparked from.

“Dude, you’re humping my thigh,” James mumbles sleepily, but doesn’t take his arms away.

Brett snorts at him, digs his nose a little bit against James’ cheek.

“I just had your dick in my mouth. Deal with it.”

From above them, Aleks makes a sound almost like a fond sigh. His hands move, slide down across Brett’s shoulder blades and then pinch just a bit too sharply at the tendons between his neck and shoulders. That gets him to gasp, gets him to lurch a bit forward to get away from the sudden rush of half-pleasure, half-pain before he melts against James again.

“Seriously, for like three seconds,” Aleks says, not necessarily irritated, “can you two just shut up?”

“Sure,” Brett slurs, rolls his shoulders into Aleks’ touch again, still practically rubbing himself off on James’ thigh. “Whatever you say.”

“If only it were that easy,” Aleks slides his hand across his shoulders again, then presses down his spine with the heel of his palm. The pressure is firm, makes Brett arch and groan low and pleased into James’ skin and James moves his leg a little, makes it easier for Brett to rut against.

“ _You’re_ easy,” James mumbles back, but he still sounds so satisfied that it makes Brett’s stomach tighten. _He’d_ made James sound like that, and it was a good feeling. Even all of their fighting couldn’t take this way - it was the one thing that they were always good at.

“Says the guy who just came from a vanilla blowjob,” Aleks retorts, but it’s easy and teasing and James rumbles a familiar, fond laugh that puts Brett at ease. Aleks keeps rubbing his back, working the muscles until Brett doesn’t even want to _try_ to move. It’s the most relaxed he’s been in a few days, since they started prepping for this goddamn nightmare of a con. Actually, now that he’s thinking about it, it’s the first time they’ve actually been together like this in a few days, too. Between the warehouse and all of their houses and off days and business days and the cons coming up for con season, they’d kind of been missing each other.

The thought’s enough to bring a surge of affection and he spends it pressing open mouthed kisses to James’ shoulders and neck, his beard hairs tickling his skin enough that he’s got him giggling before he finally makes Brett stop with a hand on his shoulder.

Aleks sounds happy when he speaks up, “You two look nice like this. All cuddly like fuckin’, like puppies.”

“Shut up,” James does something over Brett’s shoulder, presumably gives Aleks the bird, but then he drops his hand to Brett’s back, too, and starts rubbing at the muscles that Aleks had already gone over, four slick hands relaxing him until he’s making soft, moaning sounds into James’ neck. James’ leg is nice, but Brett wants out of his pants, wants a hand on his dick, and he makes the decision to sit up with something close to the reluctance that a Sophie’s Choice induces.

“Fuckin’,” He pushes at his waist band, sighing when Aleks immediately drops his hands to help. James doesn’t sit up, but he watches them with something in his eyes that makes Brett kind of want to preen, hands resting on the mattress by his head. He’s open, unaggressive and still obviously taken care of, and it makes Brett’s Caveman Brain happy. If Aleks were just as satisfied, Brett would know true happiness for the night.

Aleks helps him get his pants down and then he’s gotta resituate to get them off all the way and, while he’s doing that, James finally starts moving too.

He and Aleks end up on their sides, facing each other, and James curls up behind Aleks, wraps a loose arm over his waist so he can wrap a hand around Aleks’ dick and stroke slow and easy.

Brett _would_ be jealous, but fuck if they don’t make a pretty fucking pair and, honestly, Aleks deserves the attention after defusing _two_ fights in the last half hour. They’re close enough together that James’ knuckles brush against Brett’s dick and Brett has to close his eyes and enjoy the first bit of attention, even second-hand attention, it’s getting.

“Hey,” Aleks wiggles a hand under Brett, cups the back of his head and slides his fingers through the hair there so he can pull him close and kiss him. James’ chin is hooked over Aleks’ shoulder, and Brett knows he’s watching and it makes Brett feel hot. He shuffles closer, until their flushed chest to chest, James’ hand caught between them and James pulls his hand back long enough to lick his palm and then wrap his fingers around them both, their shafts squeezed tight together in his grip as he jacks them both off.

Brett sighs through his nose, kisses Aleks’ harder, rolls his hips into James’ hand. He grips Aleks’ hip, the skin there soft where he’s gained weight in the last few months, and James is so close, hot and a little sweaty against Aleks’ back. Brett’s fingers can stroke them both and he takes advantage of it, eventually just dropping his arm until he’s got it around them both, palm pressed to James’ back, grinding into Aleks until he’s got Aleks making the soft, sweet noises he makes, like he’s afraid he’s gonna come instead of chasing it.

Aleks’ is using one hand to hold Brett’s head close, but the other just looks for a place to grip, a place to hold on to and it finally settled on Brett’s hip, too, and he uses it as a steadying place to roll his hips between Brett and James, work against Brett, let James play them both like their violins under his talented fingers.

Brett breaks the kiss to trail his lips down Aleks’ jaw, nudges his head up both so he can get to his neck and so that Aleks can’t muffle those sounds anymore. His orgasm kind of sneaks up on him - not earth shattering, but smooth and satisfying. He tenses, presses his lips to Aleks’ shoulder to brace himself, groans soft and a little high, arches into it and James doesn’t let up. He rubs the head of Brett’s dick with his thumb and then presses against the bundle of nerves on the underside, works his fingers and twists his slick palm, and Brett can’t hold off. It’s immediately wetter, his hips jerking hard a few times and then slowing to just the aftershocks, toes curling where his legs and theirs have all tangled together.

James doesn’t stop moving his hand even after Brett is done coming, because Aleks is making those tell-tale sounds, faster and faster, high little _heh_ s like he’s choking himself off. Brett, trying not to shiver at the slow build-up of overstimulation that’s starting to pool, slides a hand between Aleks and James, cups Aleks’ ass and squeezes once and then slips his fingers down, fluttering over Aleks’ hole and then down a little more, to the same spot he’d gone after for James. Aleks isn’t as sensitive on the outside as James is, but he still reacts, parts his legs a little and clutches at Brett’s head and hip, gasping for air like he’s dying.

“Hey,” James says, quiet, “Aleks,”

Aleks hums back in response, tight and a little bit like he’s in pain. Brett knows what pain sounds like, though, and this isn’t pain. Aleks is close, he’s on the edge, and he’s gonna fall right over, soon.

“Come on,” James taunts, and Brett feels him do something, jerk his hand in a way that even has Brett’s throat closing up because _fuck_ , he’d just come, _Jesus_ , but it has Aleks crying out and Brett presses up with his fingers into that spot, rubs hard and fast, and Aleks cries out again, louder, his whole body spasms hard, and then there’s a new wet between them, James’ hand slowing into something that’s just working them both, squeezing out everything it can while they both shudder and sigh under him.

They all lay there for a moment, breathing too hard and reveling in the aftershocks. Every so often one makes Brett twitch, makes him hum softly as he reaches out and uses the backs of his fingers to brush some of Aleks’ hair. He can just catch sight of James nuzzling like a happy kitten against Aleks’ nape, his hand still gently working at the two of them every so often. It’s wet and warm and serves to make them both gasp against each other every so often, a gentle buzz of stimulation that borders on too much.

Arguments seem so trivial in that moment, wrapped up together and enjoying the smell of musk in the room, the sweat that drips lightly down his forehead. Brett moves his hand from Aleks’ hair to James’, runs his fingers once through sweaty curls before cupping his face, lost for a moment in the warmth of the afterglow.

Logically they should probably clean up. James may have not made such a mess, thanks to Brett, but there’s still come between himself and Aleks, over James’ hand and more on the sheets than they should allow given that they’re not sheets that actually belong to them. But cleaning up involves _moving,_ involves having to detangle himself from where their legs are mixed together, and to be childish about it, he doesn’t _want_ to.

Still, he’s the one who has to make the hard decisions most of the time, so he groans and then mumbles with his eyes closed.

“Someone’s gonna have to go to the bathroom.” His voice is more of a croak than anything. “Make good on those little free soaps.”

“I’m not moving,” James announces, and his sticky wet hand moves, wipes their come off onto Aleks’ stomach. Aleks immediately makes a disgusted noise, but other than the jump of his muscles at James’ touch, he doesn’t move either.

“Dude,” he says, and James giggles.

Brett sighs deeply. They’re leaving it up to him, as usual. Extricating himself from their little bundle of limbs is about the most difficult thing he’s had to do all night, really, and it takes a gargantuan amount of effort to roll onto his back, swing his legs over the side of the mattress so he can waddle half-heartedly towards their en suite bathroom.

It’s a nice little bathroom, if not old, with a tub and curtains rather than a walk-in shower, old tiles with tanned grout worn down from age. He catches sight of himself in the mirror and has to laugh. Come all over his stomach and between his legs, hair a mess, beard a little unkempt, red in the face and down to his chest. He runs his hands through all of his hair and lets it stand on end for a moment before smoothing it down, drags them both down his face and breathes.

After that it’s gathering up a few of the folded face rags on top of the toilet, runs them under hot water and then wrings them out. It’s no chore he’s unused to, and after wiping himself down with a hiss, it’s back into the bedroom. James and Aleks are still curled up on the bed, James plastered up against Aleks’ back and pressing his face into all of his sweaty blond hair.

Brett nearly rolls his eyes, sits down on the edge of the bed again.

“Have you two moved at all?”

“No,” James says, and yawns. “This bitch already fell asleep.”

Brett furrows his eyebrows but yep, when he sneaks a peek Aleks is snoring softly into the pillow underneath him, looking content as could be. James still has his arms wrapped around him, but he shifts helpfully, lets Brett do a quick swipe of the mess on Aleks’ soft stomach. Aleks barely even moves, only presses his face into the pillow and humming before settling back down.

“What a champion,” Brett says dryly, and James laughs again. It’s a gentle little sound, sleepy and muffled into Aleks’ hair. Brett doesn’t really pay attention to where he tosses the dirty rag; maybe some general direction towards the bathroom. He’s not too concerned. What he _is_ concerned about is crawling into bed and joining Aleks in passing the _fuck_ out. When James yawns, it’s clear that he’s got a similar plan. He shuts off the lights, lets the moonlight creep in through the blinds.

“I’m cold,” James complains, and snuggles closer to Aleks.

“You’re _demanding,_ ” Brett corrects immediately, but true to form just simply fixes the problem with minimal effort, pulls the comforter and the sheets out from underneath the other two, tugs them down and then crawls into the bed. James makes a happy noise as soon as they’re under soft, warm sheets, hand searching for Brett’s.

“Hey,” James says after a moment, and Brett squeezes at him.

“Yeah?”

“You’re not…” James trails off, and Brett turns their hands, interlocking their fingers where they meet instead. The motion seems to give James courage, because he swallows and then mutters quietly, “you’re not still mad at me, right?”

“Orgasms are usually a pretty good way of reconciling a dumb, shitty argument I can’t even remember anymore,” Brett replies, but he rubs his thumb against James’ hand, listens to the quiet, sleepy sounds Aleks makes between the two of them. “Nah. I’m not mad.”

He can barely see James’ expression, given that Aleks is between them, but James’ grip tightens on his hand. It’s unsure, maybe even scared, but Brett just sighs and lifts their joined hands, presses his lips to James’ knuckles and speaks into the warm skin there.

“Go to sleep, James,” he says softly. “We’ve got a long-ass day tomorrow.”

James sniffles, just a little bit, but Brett can see him nodding in the moonlight peeking in through the blinds. Aleks shifts between the two of them and huffs into the pillow, and finally, Brett lets his eyes slide shut as he drifts off to sleep.

 


	2. Day 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 1.......

The first thing he immediately recognizes is that James isn’t in the bed anymore.

Brett turns to look at him. He’s making soft, quiet, terrified little noises from where he’s pressed himself up into a corner; hands up near his face, and Brett can see that he’s covered in blood, splashed across his cheeks, dripping down his fingers and making lines on his forearms and towards his elbows. He’s staring at Brett from across the room, wide-eyed and trembling.

Brett opens his mouth to call out to him, but as soon as his lips part James is flinching and trying to flatten himself up against the wall, and in the moonlight Brett can see sparkling tears mixing with the blood on his face.

“Please,” James says quietly, hoarsely, “please, please don’t, oh God, please don’t—”

And he’s _heard_ James scared before, but never like that, never a bone-deep terror that shakes him down to his very core, never this fear that fills the room. Brett’s got _no_ fucking idea what’s happening, no idea at all, but he knows that James is covered in blood and terrified and that’s enough to get him to try and speak.

“James—”

There’s a soft gurgling noise underneath him, choked off and wet, and Brett looks down.

He hadn’t realized Aleks was underneath him; hadn’t really stopped to consider Aleks at all. But Brett’s sitting on top of his hips, pinning him down to the mattress. He takes in the sheer amount of _blood_ that’s soaked into the sheets underneath Aleks, and Aleks makes another soft noise that gushes another small stream of blood from where his throat’s been torn clean out.

Brett rears back in terrified shock, yelps out loud as he half-topples away, and Aleks moans softly, painfully. It sounds like even such a tiny noise is a Herculean amount of effort, and now that he can _see_ it all, there’s blood everywhere. It’s all over Brett, too, all over his hands and his arms, his chest, sticky and thick, it’s all over his face and clumping his beard.

It’s _in his mouth,_ he realizes with sick horror. Fuck, it’s in his mouth, why is Aleks’ blood in his mouth? He’s breathing too fast, sharp gasps that come out as tiny sounds that echo James’. He wants to _help,_ wants to lurch forward and press his hands to Aleks’ throat and call for help but he’s frozen, unable to do more than stare. Aleks twitches once, a full-body spasm before he lets out a noise like a wisp of air, like he’s unable to draw another breath. That’s the noise that sends Brett back into action, sends him back onto his hands and knees to crawl quickly up the bed, hover over Aleks and there are words tumbling out of his mouth, unbidden and laced with terror.

“No,” he whispers, “no, no, no, Aleks, what—”

“Brett,” James says, but it’s more of a terrified moan. His hands are still near his face, the blood dark in the room. Brett can see his eyes glittering, wide and scared.  “Brett, why did you—why did you do that? Oh, god, _Aleks,_ Brett, why did you—”

The weight of the words nearly sends him off the bed, and he looks over at James, wide-eyed and shaking. The blood in his mouth tastes like sharp copper, turns his stomach.

“What?” he says weakly, and James points at where Aleks is lying dead underneath Brett, eyes glazed over and vacant. “I didn’t, I didn’t, James—”

“Yes, you did, you _did,_ ” and James has never sounded more terrified, Brett’s never heard him like this, “please, please don’t, don’t kill me, I’m sorry, Brett, _fuck_ —”

“I didn’t,” Brett repeats, louder, a sudden anger burbling like tar in his stomach, rising in his throat to choke him. He sits up onto his knees, points a shaking finger at Aleks, too. “I didn’t! I didn’t fucking _do this!_ ”

“Please don’t kill me,” James repeats, over and over, a mantra. “Please, please Brett, please don’t.”

“Shut _up._ Shut up, James!” He wants to do whatever it takes to get James to _stop talking,_ to stop begging Brett for his life because he doesn’t know what’s _happened,_ he has no idea what’s going on but he couldn’t have killed Aleks. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, the blood in his mouth, the blood that drips down his front, oh fuck, like he _ripped Aleks’ throat out with his teeth,_ Jesus Christ. There’s no way. He couldn’t have.

He _couldn’t_ have.

“Why did you kill Aleks?” James whimpers, and then, “I’m _sorry._ ”

“ _Shut up_!” It comes out as a roar. Brett lurches off the bed, James screams, and then Brett’s opening his eyes to stare at the white ceiling above them, light from where it’s just barely dawn trickling in through the blinds. His heart thumps too loudly in his chest, he’s breathing too hard, hands shaking, sweat beading on his brow as he slowly takes in his surroundings.

From next to him Aleks mumbles something.

“Brett, shut up,” he says against Brett’s neck, and Brett swallows.

“Sorry,” he whispers, looks over at where James has buried his face in Aleks’ shoulder blades, is spooning him like his damn life depends on it. The bed is warm, and dry, and they’re all tangled up the way they had been when they’d fallen asleep.

James has, at some point in the night, managed to wriggle an arm between Brett and Aleks, and his hand is tangled with Brett’s. His eyes are hidden, but he’s loose and not curled into the corner. They’re both relaxed, sleep-warm and Aleks isn’t even really awake, just squinting at him a little when he looks at his face, and he immediately falls back asleep when Brett kisses his forehead.

Neither of them are - Jesus, no one is dead or bloody. They’re _okay_ , but his heart won’t slow down.

He looks at the clock, takes a second to understand that it’s eight in the goddamn morning and none of his alarms had gone off and then remembers it’s because he’d forgotten to fucking plug his phone in and his two fucking boyfriends relied on his alarms when they were going on trips.

“Up,” He says out loud, “Up, fuck, it’s eight am, fuck, I gotta get up.”

“N _o_ ,” James groans, low and unhappy, and Brett is - entirely too happy to hear that noise, because it isn’t scared at all, “Stop.”

“No,” Brett tugs until they both _free him_ , and then clambers out of bed just in time to watch Aleks turn around in James’ arms so they can readjust, pull each other close for warmth and mumble unhappily between themselves.

Brett sighs loudly, annoyed but still so fucking happy that it’s not even enough to convince _him_ that he’s annoyed, and then pulls the comforter up more so it’s covering them both. He’ll let them sleep until he figures out what the plan is and talks to Lindsey again.

He pulls his charger out of his jeans, plugs his phone in, and then takes the bathroom bag they’d packed into the en suite and locks the door behind him.

He goes about his usual routine, but he can’t meet his own eye in the mirror. Keeps thinking about that damn dream. Brushing his teeth doesn’t help, nor putting on deodorant or getting dressed for a day on the road. He can barely even look at _himself_ , but it’s when he manages to get his eyes up to neck height that he sees the first set of bruises. They aren’t light - or small. They’re a deep purple, _huge_ , like a rash along his neck and shoulder. It hadn’t hurt at all but the moment he presses the pad of his finger against part of it, the whole series of bite marks flares to life and makes him jerk away from his own touch with a hiss of pain. They aren’t hidden by his shirt - most of them are either peeking over the neckline or good and clear of it, closer to his jaw. Jesus, they were going to a _con_ , with _fans_ and _pictures_ and a fucking _Q-and-A_ , he is going to be fucking blasted with stupid questions about these.

“What,” He says out loud, glaring at his own reflection, feeling irritation building up fast and hot in his gut, “The _fuck_.”

He storms out of the en suite, ready to wake both of the fuckers up and figure out which one of them had decided to mark him up like a fucking coloring book, but he doesn’t even get a word out before he remembers the dream again.

He stands there, frozen, watching them sleep together, breathing in and out evenly, and the irritation is still _there_ but...fuck, he’ll give them an earful when they’re up.

He goes back to his side of the bed, grabs his phone since it’s had about twenty minutes to charge and that’s all he can spare unless they want to be later than they already are. He doesn’t have any missed calls or texts, but he’s on thirty percent and that’s enough for now.

He turns to look at them one more time and then stops again. Actually feels the blood draining from his face, his veins turning cold.

Aleks has flopped back over, exposed his chest and neck to the room, and he’s got a matching rash to Brett - except it’s curled all along the front of his throat. A bite mark over his Adam’s Apple, an angry looking bruise and what he’s pretty sure is beard burn. But he doesn’t remember biting Aleks’ there. And Aleks had been facing him the whole time, James had gone after his sides and shoulders but not the front of him.

His heart rate is picking up again. All he can do is run.

He leaves the room, locks it with the key and then slips that into his pocket, too.

He turns around, just trying to breath, and has time to see two wide, dark eyes and a pale, unhappy face before instinct takes over and he lurches back against the door and yells in shock.

The face - Trevor, Jesus, it’s Trevor - screams in response, falling back into the opposite side of the wall with a loud _thud_ and pinwheeling arms.

“ _Jesus Christ_ , Trev _or_!” Brett can’t help but shout, angry in response to the fear, and Trevor flinches hard enough that Brett immediately feels bad. He lowers his voice, tried to smooth it out and is _sort of_ successful when he continues, “You almost gave me a heart attack.”

“I was here first, man,” Trevor grumbles, lowering his arms from the protective stance he’d taken - like he was gonna fuckin’ punch _Brett_ \- “You came out in front of _me_.”

“Well,” Brett frowns, shaking himself out, “Make some goddamn noise or something. _Announce_ yourself, fuck.”

“ _Announce_ myself,” Trevor crosses his arms, “Yeah, okay, let me _announce_ myself to the empty hall in case someone from the _two_ occupied rooms comes out.”

“Okay, I get it,” Brett held up a hand to stop him, already feeling a migraine coming. This is not what he needs right now, “Why are you even up? It’s only eight-thirty.”

Trevor shrugs, and they start walking toward the front of the hotel together. Neither of them raise their voices. It feels...weird, and even Brett can’t shake the feeling that talking too loud is a bad idea.

“Dunno,” Trevor says, looking at the ground as they walk, “Nervous, I guess.”

“The con?”

“And the van,” Trevor’s lips twist, a look on his face that Brett doesn’t really like, “And this place. Maybe I should have got a room with Joe, after all.”

“We’re out of here today,” Brett pats his shoulder, “You can sleep in the van.”

“I guess,” Trevor shrugs, “I just wanna get this week over with and go home, man.”

“Don’t we all, Trev,” Brett frowns, stops walking. “Did we take a wrong turn?”

“Huh?” Trevor stops too, looks around, and then looks around again, “No? We’ve been going straight.”

“Then why aren’t we at the front yet?” Brett slowly starts walking again, “We’ve been walking for a while.”

“Look,” Trevor points, going a little faster, and yeah, okay, there’s the front door. It must have been in Brett’s head. He’s just...off, today. That dream had fucked him up.

The lobby is empty, the old man gone, but there’s a paper on the door and, when Brett gets closer, there’s a message in thin, light ink that it takes him just a moment to actually be able to read because it’s obviously been written by a shaky, weak hand.

“There’s breakfast,” he says, surprised, “In the room to the right. The dining room. It’s free.”

“Free?” Trevor perks up, and then he’s gone. Well, he’s not too tired to eat, then.

The dining room, when Brett follows him, does have couches and a fireplace, but deeper into the room is a long, dark wood table with six tall chairs. The note hadn’t been lying - there are plates at each place and a small feast laid out along another table against the wall. A ham in the middle, bowls of scrambled eggs, hash browns and sausage rolls, biscuits, bagels, a fruit salad and three pitchers - milk, orange juice, and apple juice. All of the plating is beautiful old china, from the platter under the sliced ham to the wine glasses by each place setting. A big plate, a small one, and then two forks and a spoon and knife, like they are in some sort of five-star place and not a creepy hotel off the side of the road.

Trevor is already sitting at one of the places, filled his plate with sliced ham and eggs, and some sausage and a biscuit for his smaller plate that he’s dump a gravy boat over that Brett didn’t notice at first.

“Jesus,” Brett carefully sits down next to him, looks the buffet table over, “When did this even get here?”

“Dunno,” Trevor says through a mouthful of biscuit, and Brett wrinkles his nose at him until he smiles sheepishly and swallows his mouthful down, “I dunno. Probably just a minute ago, everything’s still pipin’,” and he says the last word a little harder than necessary, that Classic Trevor way of wording things that finally gets Brett to crack and relax into his chair with a small grin.

“What if it’s poison,” Brett teases, and Trevor doesn’t even hesitate to stuff some ham into his face in response. “Jesus, gross.”

Trevor just hums in response, looking pleased with himself, and Brett shakes his head then gets up to go get himself something to eat, reaches for the fruit salad and then the hash browns.  He pours himself a glass of apple juice, and then pours some for Trevor, too, since he’s too busy eating to worry about something to drink and he’ll need it when he eventually makes himself sick.

The food’s not half-bad. In fact, the more he works through his plate the better it tastes, works through fruit and hash browns and even a bagel with too much cream cheese. It’s probably the most normal experience they’ve had at the hotel since they got there, sitting at a table with Trevor eating breakfast and enjoying the smells of good food.

Trevor’s inevitably grateful for the apple juice, which he does in fact need when he eats too fast and nearly chokes, and Brett just smirks at him in knowing amusement. Trevor wrinkles his nose at him over the rim of the glass, and Brett snorts his laughter at him, and that little moment of normality is comforting. This, they’re used to, if not creepy hotels and strange old men with shitty life advice and vans breaking down in the middle of the night.

“You look like you had some fun last night,” Trevor says after a bit; he’s slowed down significantly, and now he’s just nibbling at his food.

When Brett gives him an odd look, there’s a smug grin starting to form on Trevor’s face. He lifts his own chin, gestures at his throat with a bit of an up and down gesture with his forefinger.

“Your neck, dude.”

Somehow Brett had managed to forget, but when he rubs his hand against his jawline the bruises flare to life again and he hisses, jerking away sharply. Trevor’s still giving him a knowing look even as he starts laughing, brings his own hand down again even as he makes a face of disgust.

“Dude, you guys are so gross,” he complains, and Brett rubs a much lighter circle against his neck this time. It still stings, but it’s muted somewhat with a gentler touch. He manages to chuckle, even though there’s another pang of irritation at Trevor’s laughter. “Your weird sex shit is gonna be all over the internet.”

“Oh yeah,” Brett says dryly. “Just what we all need, extensive Twitter posts about the exact shape of my hickeys compared to James’ teeth. Piss off, Trev.”

He means for it to be light and joking, but it comes off more harsh than he had intended. Trevor makes another face at him, looking almost wounded, but before he can reply the chair next to him slides away from the table. It makes Trevor jump, but as James plops down into the seat his startled expression twists into something a bit more annoyed, and he returns to his food. Brett opens his mouth to say hi, and maybe to mention the _fucking_ bruises all over his neck (both in the literal and metaphorical sense of the word) but he gets cut off before he can even get a word out.

“You left,” James accuses, glaring at Brett with his arms crossed. He’s dressed, but he hasn’t put his hair up yet, nor given himself a bit of a shave, and it’d look cute if it weren’t for the scowl on his face.

Brett can’t help but raise his eyebrows, looking around for a moment at some invisible crowd.

“I told you both I was getting up,” he says slowly, in that way where he’s trying not to act like the other person is an idiot, but his tone says otherwise. “You yelled at me when I said so.”

“That just makes my point even _more,_ ” James replies, and his voice pitches up like it always does when he’s upset, except this time it’s… Brett doesn’t want to call it more _real_ because that’s not the case at all. When James is upset, it’s usually either blown up for a funny bit or it’s seriously, but it’s always very much _real_. This, though, sounds more like genuine hurt than a joke, for sure. “We wanted you to stay and you got up anyway.”

“You _know_ I get up early. Why are you being so difficult lately?”

“I’m not being _difficult_ , you just—”

“Okay,” Aleks says loudly, and everyone jumps again. He must’ve been right behind James because he walks up to the table, accompanied by Joe. They both look like they just rolled out of bed, Joe’s flyaway hair curling in a million directions without a hat to calm it. It takes Brett a second to realize that Aleks is wearing one of his shirts, clothing gremlin that he is. The marks on his neck are stark against the paleness of his skin. “Okay, seriously, I get that we’re all stressed out but come on. First thing in the fucking morning?”

“He started it,” Brett says immediately, childishly. He regrets it as soon as the words are out of his mouth, if for the immaturity of it if nothing else, and James glares at him. He’s a bit flushed in the face, like he’s _angry,_ genuinely angry, and even Trevor’s looking a little shocked at how quickly everything devolved into an argument.

“I started it because _you_ started it when you left the fucking hotel room!” James snaps loudly, and slouches farther in his chair. It’s honestly appalling how very real the irritation is in Brett’s chest at the sight of it. James doesn’t usually piss him off this bad, but then James isn’t usually raring for a fight every second of the day. “I’m freaking out enough as it is in this stupid shitty hotel and then you’re just fucking _gone,_ I flipped out, man!”

“I _told you_ where I was going!” Brett tries to say, but Aleks sighs loudly, almost a scoff, and turns around on his heel, heads out of the dining room.

“You know what, I’m not listening to this,” he says, sounds exasperated, and Joe’s left to stand awkwardly by himself while Brett and James glare at each other and Trevor looks between the two of them, brows raised and eyes wide.

The four of them sort of sit there in that uncomfortable silence, until Joe carefully walks around the table and pulls out the chair next to Brett, sits down with a quiet huff.

“Good morning,” he says, unsure. Normally it might get a laugh out of someone, but everyone’s still quiet. Joe clears his throat, turns around in his chair to glance at the buffet of breakfast food still steaming a little despite how long it’s been since they first walked in.

Brett looks over at him, curious. He can see Joe’s eyes darting as he takes in everything on the table, and then to his shock Joe turns back around again. He doesn’t get up to get anything, even though the last thing any of them ate before the hotel was shitty gas station food the night before. He must be starving by now.

“You gonna get something to eat?” Brett asks after a moment, and Joe shakes his head.

“Nah, I’d rather just… I’d rather pick up something on the way, you know?” he says after a pause, scratches at all of his hair, at his beard. “Never liked hotel food much.”

James scoffs as he stands up, the chair protesting loudly against the carpet. He still looks like he’s in a mood, but before anyone can say anything he’s walking around the table, tugging a little on Joe’s shirt.

“Come on, man. Just eat a little bit.” And _there’s_ the James that Brett knows and loves, the one that cares about his friends too much. “We still gotta wait for Linds and the others to come get us. Crappy hotel food never killed anyone.”

Joe opens his mouth like he wants to protest, but nothing comes out. Instead he turns and looks across the table at Trevor, who just gives him a shrug of the shoulder and a raise of his eyebrows. He doesn’t offer any sort of help, and neither does Brett. When it becomes clear by James’ insistent tug on his shirt that he’s not getting away with not eating, Joe lets out a sigh and then stands, follows James towards the buffet.

“Dude,” Trevor says quietly, and Brett turns to look at him. There’s a troubled look in his face, unusual for him. “This place is… it’s fucked up. I don’t like it.”

Brett shakes his head with a dismissive little laugh, rips off another piece of his bagel.

“We’re all just tired, Trev,” he says, eats the bite. “We’ll call Lindsey when we’re done eating, see when she can come pick us up. I’d really rather not wait on the repairs for that shitty rental.”

That must be a comfort to hear, because Trevor nods to himself and picks up his glass of water. They sit together in quiet solitude until Joe and James come back, James still sitting down next to Trevor and avoiding looking at Brett. His plate’s stacked relatively high, but Joe’s is meager at best. A couple of sausage links, a scoop of eggs, some toast. They’re definitely going to have to stop at a gas station in the near future, or a McDonald’s, and get some damn food in him.

There’s not much conversation; only the gentle clink of silverware against their plates as James and Joe eat. Brett finishes up his bagel and then sits silently for a minute before he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Still no missed calls or even a text. It’s still a bit too early to call for a mechanic, given that they’re in the middle of nowhere and AAA is more a luxury than a necessity at this point in their financial lives, but he can call Lindsey.

Three pairs of eyes are on him as he lifts his phone to his ear, one elbow resting on the back of his other hand as he sits back in his seat. It rings once, twice, three, four, keeps going until it clicks over to her chirpy voice mail, and Brett frowns.

“Hey, Linds,” he says as soon as the tone beeps, “we’re stuck at this weird hotel and waiting on a fix, call me back when you get this, yeah? We could use a lift.”

“She’s not answering?” James asks as soon as Brett lowers his phone, and there’s a tension there in his voice that’s making it a little shrill. “Why isn’t she answering?”

“She might be asleep,” Brett says distractedly, scrolls up through his contacts and presses another name instead.

Asher’s phone rings a bunch of times too, immediately goes to voicemail after. He doesn’t leave a message that time, figuring one for Lindsey is good enough, but it does make him a little anxious. He considers calling Anna or Jakob too, but that might seem a bit excessive. Instead he just puts his phone down on the table and swallows a bit harder than he means to.

“It’s early,” Joe says, when it becomes clear that everyone’s getting a little tense. “I’m sure they’re already at the hotel and they’re all sleeping, she’ll probably call back in an hour or two. They _were_ driving all night.”

“This place is fucking us all up,” Trevor says firmly, slides his chair back from the table. “Dude, I am so ready to get out of here. Fuck this.”

“I’m with Trev,” James says instantly, and throws his fork down. He looks a bit ill. “Can we just, like, call an Uber or something? Drive that way?”

Brett thinks on his conversation with Lindsey the night before. They _could_ call an Uber, but the fee would be enormous, plus they’d still have to pay for the rental van, and possibly whatever repairs that needs, plus the hotel fee here _and_ when they get to the con. The more he thinks on it, the more money he realizes this is going to cost them.

“We’ll hold off until Lindsey calls back,” he says finally, and there’s the unmistakable feeling of unanimous distaste from around the table. “Figure it out from there. Come on guys,” he adds, tries to be soothing and reprimanding at once when the three of them all look at him, expressions upset. “We can survive a couple of hours in a weird spooky hotel. You’ll be fine, I promise.”

“I’m going back to our room,” James announces, rather than answering, and Trevor nods. They both stand, leaving Brett and Joe sitting. “Seriously, I’m just gonna… check on Aleks, I guess. Little fuck is probably asleep again.”

“Lucky,” Trevor says under his breath, and Brett barely catches it.

“Okay,” is what he decides on. “Okay, well, I guess I’ll see you back there in a minute or two. I’m gonna wait until Joe’s done eating.”

“I’m pretty much done,” Joe says as they watch James and Trevor walk back out towards the halls, and already it looks like they’re bickering about something. Brett gives him a Look, but he just shrugs. “I don’t know, it didn’t taste all that good. Anyway, I kind of gotta agree with them… I really don’t like it here.”

“I’m not exactly at home myself,” Brett replies, and gathers up all the plates to bring them over to a table near the end of the buffet with a sign that says _FOR DIRTY DISHES_. He leaves them there, notices that despite having filled his plate up high, James barely ate anything. “It’s only for a couple of hours. We’ll be fine.”

Joe hums a reply rather than actually saying anything. Brett decides on scooping some eggs and some bacon onto a bagel and wrapping it up in a napkin for Aleks, and he can feel Joe watching the methodical motions silently. It’s only when they’re heading back down the hall that Joe finally speaks again, and his voice is small.

“Hey, Brett?” he asks, looking around, and Brett looks down at him curiously.

“Yeah?”

Joe hesitates for a long moment, like he’s not sure he even wants to speak, but then he swallows loudly and shrugs.

“I dunno,” he says slowly. “I just… don’t you think it’s kind of weird that, I dunno, we were the only ones at breakfast? Like, where was everyone else? We can’t be the only people here, right?”

Having not considered that at all when they were eating, Brett twists around, looks down the halls, back towards the little dining room. He’s never actually been to a hotel where there wasn’t a single person at least roaming the hall, and breakfast was always bustling at every hotel he’s ever gone to regardless of whether it was too early or just a little too late. It hadn’t occurred to him until now, but the food had looked untouched until they got to it.

“...we were probably just the first ones there,” he says finally, firmly. “I wouldn’t get too worked up about it.”

If Joe has anything to say to that, he doesn’t voice it.

-

Aleks is laying down on his stomach, head on his folded arms on the pillow, when James and Trevor come back to the room. He lifts his head up when James opens the door but drops his face back into hiding with an annoyed huff as soon as he catches sight of him.

James tries not to take it personally. Aleks is probably just as agitated as he and Brett are, even if he’s better at hiding it, and he’s never a fan of the two of them bickering, especially not in situations like this. Honestly, they don’t get into _real_ disagreements very often and, when they do, none of them like conflict so it isn’t like James can blame Aleks for stomping off.

“Hey,” He nudges Trevor, “Uh, wanna go check out the bathroom or something? I need to talk to Aleks.”

“Dude,” Trevor frowns at him, his eyebrows coming together to form a tense line, but James just pats his back as apologetically as he can.

“I’ll make it up to you,” James promises and gives him a thankful look when, with a soft curse, Trevor marches into the bathroom and closes the door behind him.

He makes his way to Aleks’ side of the bed, sits down gingerly and brushes his fingers along Aleks’ back, unsure of his welcome.

“Fuck off, James,” Aleks grumbles, but he doesn’t arch away from James’ fingers so that’s something.

“Look,” James hesitates, tries to get his thoughts in order. He doesn’t like doing this - the whole...apologizing thing, it isn’t much his style. But he can recognize when he’s in the wrong, despite popular opinion, so he continues on, “I know I’m being...kind of a bitch. I don’t _mean_ to pick fights. I’m just...fuck, okay, I’m really creeped out and I’m on edge. I’m _sorry_ , okay?”

Aleks turned to face him so he’s resting the side of his head on his folded arms, glaring.

“You need to chill. Stop picking at Brett.”

“I know,” James looks down, says it around the flares of upset in his stomach. Why couldn’t Aleks be on _his_ side, just once?

“Good.” Aleks sits up on his knees, “And don’t let a hotel fuck you up. You’re not a kid, this place can’t hurt you.”

“It’s not -” James protests, but Aleks’ glare quells any argument he has in him. “I know, okay?”

“Are we done with the fighting bullshit, then?” Aleks moves so he’s sitting on the bed, cross-crossed legs and holding his ankles, leaning forward to look at James seriously.

“ _Yes_ ,” James snaps, “Yes, we’re done. I’ll - try to chill out. No more picking fights. But I’m not the only one!”

“This isn’t first grade,” Aleks doesn’t stop glaring, and James’ stomach is cold and low in his gut. He hadn’t eaten that much, he didn’t think, but he’s trying to keep it down, now. “We’re your boyfriends, James.”

“I _know_ ,”

“So the fighting bullshit is _done_?” Aleks asks again, a little more firm, and James sighs loudly but nods, giving in.

“Yeah, it’s done.”

“Thank you,” Aleks reaches up with one hand, uses it to guide James’ face into a light, forgiving kiss. James wants to keep arguing - this is not all on him, Brett _left_ \- but Aleks would not be so forgiving if he did and...he really didn’t know if he could handle fighting with _both_ of them. Especially where his head was at, at the moment.

So he kisses Aleks back, leans on one hand a little to get closer. He brings his other hand up to brush against Aleks’ neck, wants to feel the way he relaxes into James’ hand, but Aleks jerks away with a sharp inhale and James nearly springs back in shock.

“What - Jesus,”

“ _Ow_ ,” Aleks whines, lifting a hand to his neck and James glances down and then stares. They’d got up and dressed in the dimness of the room, hadn’t spoke much or even really looked at each other after they’d actually convinced themselves to leave the bed, and James had noticed the hickies but they hadn’t really registered outside of the norm until now.

They’re _huge_. Jesus, one of them looks close to breaking the skin, the rest dark or pin-pricked with blood, painful looking and kind of inflamed.

“Holy shit,” James touches his own neck, tries to remember when _that_ had happened. But he’s pain-free, not even a mark on his skin. _He_ hadn’t done that to Aleks, so it must have been Brett. He feels a spark of...maybe jealousy? Or something close to it, small and envious, in his chest but pushes it aside. Immediately, guilt fills him from head to toe. “Aleks, you, uh,”

“I _know_ ,” Aleks frowns, “I saw in the mirror. You two are fucking animals.”

“ _I_ didn’t do it!” James denies, tilting Aleks’ head up a little to get a better look at the marks. There’s one, right across Aleks’ Adam’s apple, the teeth marks obvious even after so many hours, and part of James wants to fit his teeth in the grooves, leave his own marks. Another part of him wants marks of his own.

“Sure you didn’t, you and Brett and your fuckin’ _beards_ ,” Aleks sighs, but it’s not _real_ annoyance - for the most part - and James can’t help but grin a little.

“You like our beards.”

“Whatever,” Aleks pushes his hand away so he can drop his chin down, and James can see him trying to keep a straight face, see the smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“You do,” James actually feels his grin start to stretch, likes the way Aleks’ cheeks go a little pink, the feeling of _he loves me_ that shoots through him, “You _like_ us.”

Aleks is still sputtering when the door to the room opens again and Brett and Joe slip inside and shut it firmly behind them.

The brief period of happiness ends almost immediately. It isn’t that James is still mad - even though he is - but it’s more...he and Brett are _fighting_ , and James doesn’t know what to do about it. There’s a lot he _could_ do, but he doesn’t know how Brett is feeling, if he wants to make up or keep going at it or fuck it out or yell it out or just let it sizzle into the atmosphere and not bring it up; with Aleks, James can read him pretty well. Brett is an open book, unless he doesn’t want to be, and he’s locked up tight after this morning.

Even now, he doesn’t really look at James, just collapses onto the other side of the bed and sets a napkin down with a breakfast bagel he must have got together between he and Aleks.

“Eat,” He says, sounding awkward, and James can’t help but notice again that his neck is marked to hell, too. It made his insides feel - gross, cold and small.

“Thanks,” Aleks says after a second, “You didn’t have to,”

“I know,” Brett shifted a little, sitting up on his hands, “It’s an, uh, apology bagel, I guess.” His eyes slid to James, “Sorry.”

“Me, too,” James mumbles. Wonders if Brett is sick of him yet. If _they’re_ sick of him, yet.

“Uh,” Joe, leaning against the wall, speaks up, breaking into whatever weird, not-at-all-healing bubble they’d created, “Where’s Trevor?”

“Oh fuck,” James sits up straight, grimacing a little and then raising his voice, “Trev- _or_! You can come out now!”

Trevor, with a forceful yank, opens the bathroom door and stomps out, looking none too happy.

“Did you fucking forget I was in there, asshole?” he accuses, a little pale, and James lies through his teeth.

“ _No_ , don’t be stupid. We just finished talking.”

“Bullshit,” Trevor points at him sharply, but doesn’t try to argue anymore, just sits on the chair in the corner with crossed arms and a scowl.

James, feeling...a tiny bit guilty, rolls his eyes at him but moves on quickly to their next topic, “So, what, are we just waiting for Lindsey to call back?”

“Pretty much,” Brett checks his phone again and James watches his lips twist unhappily, “It’s still...pretty early. I’ll try her again in an hour if she doesn’t get back to me soon.”

“And if she doesn’t, we can Uber out, right?” James wheedles, and he knows he’s pushing, can see the irritated twitch of Brett’s eyebrow before Brett closes his eyes and takes a deep, calming breath that he exhales slow.

“Yes,” Brett relents, and that’s all James fucking needed - just an acknowledgment that they had a way to get out of here that wasn’t _the rest of the crew drives back_ , “If she doesn’t call back by the end of the day, we’ll Uber out. It’s gonna fucking cost us an arm and a leg,”

“I’ll pay for it,” James immediately offers - fuck, he’d pay a lot more than a couple hundred bucks to get the fuck out of here, “If it’s the money, I’ll fuckin’ pay for it right now.”

“Just,” Brett raises his eyebrows without opening his eyes, and he’s _trying_ to be patient and it irritates James, makes him want to fucking - make him _angry_ , just to get the reaction out of him, but he’d promised Aleks that he’d stop needling Brett. Fuck, honestly, he didn’t _want_ to fucking annoy him. He just - He didn’t like feeling like Brett was just _putting up with him_. “Just be patient. Give me a day to figure this out before we throw any more money at it, okay?”

James bit back his immediate response - an argument - and tries for something a little more appeasing. “Fine. I can - wait. Or whatever.”

“Thank you,” Brett exhales again, sounding relieved. James wants him to stop acting like every conversation they had was a fucking battlefield.

“Okay, but what do we do in this creepy fuckin’ hotel for the next few hours?” Trevor speaks up, sounding less annoyed but no more happy than before.

“Go fuckin’,” Aleks picks up his bagel, brings it to his mouth and takes a big bite so he can speak through un-chewed food in that way he knows all of them fucking hate, “Explore.”

“ _Explore_!?” Joe says shrilly, looking at James like he was expecting James to somehow save him from the suggestion.

“Yes,” Aleks swallows, “ _Explore_. Maybe if you assholes go see that it’s _just a building_ , you’ll stop flipping shit and you can leave the place without feeling like you’re running with your fuckin’, the fuckin’ tail one - your tail between your legs.”

“Yeah, I dunno about that,” Brett says, “This place maybe isn’t the best kinda place to go have _adventures_.”

James, seizing the opportunity because he _knows_ it’ll make Brett look at him in a way that is less like he’s a trap Brett is trying to avoid setting off and more like _James_ , says, “No, that sounds like a cool idea.”

“It does?” Joe repeats, voice still high and displeased, “No, it doesn’t.”

“We’ll just go see what the upstairs is like,” James stands up, and he can see that Brett is glaring. He just pretends he doesn’t notice, intent on it now, “Maybe try to hunt down that old guy and figure out why this place is so fucking gross.”

“James…” Brett says, warning in his tone, and James shoots him a grin that is maybe a little smug. If he’s gotta be an asshole to make Brett show some concern, then he will be.

“I’m gonna stick around here,” Aleks stretches out his legs, leans against the headboard, “Rest up before the con. You guys have fun, maybe confirm we’re not in the dead fat lady from Monster House or whatever you think is going on.”

“We’ll take the camera,” James says firmly. “We’ll go grab it out of the van and film this fuckin’ place, it’ll be good for a Behind the Cow Chop. And then people won’t be so fucking pissed when we’re late to the con ‘cause they’ll see we were _trapped here._ ”

Aleks wags a finger at him with one eye squinted a bit, like an old-timey businessman in an ancient film.

“I like how you think.” He then returns to his phone, seemingly checking out of the conversation. The others share a glance, and then Brett lets out a sigh before turning on his heel to leave; it sounds exasperated and tired, but he doesn’t say anything. Joe still looks entirely like he’d rather bolt, but after another moment of quiet he follows Brett, and then Trevor does as well. It leaves James and Aleks alone in the room, the two of them both hanging in the silence for what feels longer than necessary.

“You sure you’re not gonna come with us?” James finally says, tries to wheedle.

Aleks slides further down onto the bed, lifts his phone up so that he’s holding it above his face. He’s typing, or something, and he looks concentrated. He barely gives James a passing glance as he says, “Yeah, I’m sure. Maybe I’ll join you later, I dunno.”

“Okay, well,” James starts, but can’t really think of anything to say. He rubs at the back of his neck instead, where anxiety’s been prickling nonstop since he first woke up. Now’s about the time when, in privacy, the two of them could show a little more intimacy than usual. Normally James would walk over and give him a playful little kiss on the corner of his mouth, and Aleks would smile and shove him away. Instead they continue on in that quiet again, until James breaks it once more. “I guess we’ll see you later.”

“Yep,” Aleks says, distracted. He doesn’t even look up when James opens the door and slips out. It’s… it’s not like Aleks to be so removed from situations that genuinely stress all of them out, but maybe it’s just how he’s processing it all himself. James wouldn’t necessarily be surprised, and so when the door clicks shut behind him, he does his best to put it out of his mind.

The others are gone, presumably to go grab the camera out of the van. He isn’t entire sure how comfortable he feels knowing they just left him on his own in this spooky-ass fucking hotel, but he squares his shoulders and exhales hard, gathers himself. He reaches up and starts wrapping his hair again, uses the tie around his wrist to keep it tight against his head before he starts making his way down the hall in what he hopes is the right direction.

They hadn’t gotten a good look around the night before, given how late it was. James had assumed the lights were dimmed because of the time, but as he walks he realizes that they haven’t much changed their brightness. It’s as if the bulbs are old, clinging feebly to life for as long as they can; one flickers above him when he steps under it. Combined with the red patterned carpet and the darkly painted walls, it gives James the odd impression that he’s been submerged in red. It’s unsettling. He swallows and marches on.

They had been on the first story, he knows that much, and when he comes to the end of the hallway there’s a door off to his right labelled _STAIRWELL_ that he pushes open. The stairs aren’t much better, just as creepy and just as empty. He lets it shut behind himself and backs up into the hallway again. It’d be better to regroup with the others before wandering off on his own, he reasons silently, and turns around again to walk back down the hall.

It’s weird. He’s used to hotels bustling with people, or at least one room service attendant wandering the halls to make sure every towel is fresh and new. He’s walking on carpet, but somehow it feels like he’s making too much noise anyway. He walks a little faster than he usually might, keeps his arms locked at his sides and takes what he’s pretty sure is the left towards the front desk.

Instead there are more doors, another long highway. James blinks, swivels around where he’s standing to look back down where he came. It’s nearly identical. He stares down the hallway for another long moment, feeling a sort of horrid fear creeping up the back of his throat that he tries to taper down. There’s nothing _to_ be afraid of. He’s been in hotels before, more times than he can count, but no hotel has ever made him feel quite as… he’s not sure. Anxious? Unsettled?

 _Terrified,_ maybe.

As he stares down the hall, he slowly realizes that he can’t see the end. He tries to squint, count the doors and find where they end and he _can’t._ The hallway looks as if he keeps going, as if he could start walking and it would just never stop. It’s their hallway specifically, and that freaks him out far more than he’s willing to admit, so he turns on his heel and walks again, goes in the opposite direction.

Still, there’s not a solitary person in any of the halls. He can’t hear the gentle thumping of music from a room, or laughter from another, he can’t hear the crickety rolling of a cleaning cart, the sound of doors being locked. All of the usual hotel sounds are gone, and he’s left with nothing but the crackling of the light bulbs above his head.

“Oh, fuck this place,” he mutters out loud, and walks faster.

He’s practically doing a power walk by the time he reaches another corner, and when he turns it he’s greeted with another identical hallway. Okay. Okay, fuck. Shit. He runs his hands down his face, breathes out over the tips of his fingers when they get there. Staying calm has never necessarily been James’ strong suit, but he figures right now that’s a better chance than freaking the fuck out.

“Okay,” he says out loud. “Okay. Fuck this. You’re not lost. This place is just bullshit. It’s a hotel. You can’t be _lost._ ”

It’s true enough to calm him down a bit. He can’t be lost in a building with only two stories and only a few dozen rooms. Worse comes to worse he can shout until someone comes to find him. It’s a _hotel._ There are exits, there are ways to _leave._ If he were lost in the woods or in a city it would be something else entirely. He’s letting himself get all worked up over nothing, when he’s already feeling like shit.

He turns the corner and keeps walking, well aware that the palms of his hands are clammy with sweat. He’s too nervous, too on edge, and when he reaches another corner he has half a second to process that there’s something else there before he shrieks.

“ _Jesus Christ!_ ”

“Dude, calm the fuck down,” Trevor says immediately from behind the camera, and he’s laughing, he’s fucking _laughing,_ while James is plastered up against the wall in terror and holding onto his chest like his heart’s about to burst right out. The little shit. Brett and Joe are there too, and both are similarly giggling, though at least they have the good decency to hide it behind their hands.

“ _Trevor!_ ” James almost howls, now aware that the camera is on and recording him. Time to play it up. “You piece of shit! What the fuck are you doing scaring the shit out of me?”

“Dude, you scared yourself,” Trevor says through his laughter, in that way of his. “It’s not my fault you’re such a pussy.”

“I fucking hate you, _I fucking hate you._ ” James runs a hand over his hair and tries to smile and laugh when really he feels more like crying. His heart is thumping loudly in his chest. “I can’t believe you would pull that shit on me in this fucking place.”

“James thinks we’re in a haunted hotel,” Brett says, angling himself towards the camera’s mic, and James scowls at him.

“I never fucking said it was haunted. You _ass._ ”

Falling into the people they’ve created for the camera is easy enough. This, James knows how to do. He can smile and play up their circumstances and act like he’s just blowing everything out of proportion, rather than admitting that he’s way more scared than he originally thought he was. The others seem just as comfortable with the addition of filming; it’s a tiny little step towards home, something that they can sink themselves into as a distraction.

“So, when you’re all mad at us for being late to the con,” Brett is saying as they walk towards the front desk, and somehow it’s easier to find this time, “just remember that we got ourselves trapped in a spooky hotel and now we’re suffering at the hands of capitalism and overwhelming debt. There’s nothing scarier.”

James very much would like to argue that his experience with The Never-Ending Hallway was a tiny bit scarier than capitalism, but keeps his mouth shut on this one.

They clown around for the camera as the walk, mostly Trevor and James talking while Brett and Joe interject a comment when they want to.

They had to stop a few times so Trevor can get panning shots, “So Jakob can see how goddamn scary this place looks when he’s editing,” and it’s during their third pause that Joe practically jumps out of his skin next to James, grabbing his arm tight enough to hurt.

“ _Ow_ , Joe!” James yelps, grabbing at his hand to try to loosen his hold, “Jesus, fucking, dude! What!?”

Trevor swings around, lens ready to catch whatever is happening, and even Brett stops inspecting a painting of some sort of old time family that looks so ancient that the details of the faces of blended out with time to look at them.

“Someone was following us,” Joe says quietly - and that is not his camera personality. Trevor, after a moment where they all stand tensely, points the camera over James’ shoulder, toward the area they’d just come from.

“No one’s there, bud,” Brett frowns over Trevor’s shoulder, and Trevor must have been using the zoom function to look behind them because both of them peer closer at the screen. Joe still won’t let go but, at this point, James is tense enough that he’d rather have someone touching him and be in pain than _not_ have someone he knows to hold onto and not be in pain. He realizes he’s clinging back to Joe nearly as hard. He doesn’t want to look behind them.

“Guys, I swear,” Joe smiles nervously, turning to peek over their shoulders, “I swear, I saw someone following us. They ducked into a room.”

“Oh, well, there ya’ go,” Brett claps, “It was just another guest. I told you we couldn’t be the only people here.”

“Then why didn’t we hear the door open or close,” Joe starts, “Or _anything_. They weren’t making any sounds, and we sound like a herd of elephants.”

“Quiet feet?” Trevor bites his lip, lowers the camera, “Let’s just get to the lobby. I need some shots of it for the thing I wanna do.”

“But -”

“Joe,” James nudges him, “Drop it, okay? Even if someone _was_ following us - and I’m not sayin’ they were and I’m not sayin’ they weren’t - but if someone _was_ , there’s four of us and one of them and I’m sure there are cameras,” he glances around quickly, “ _Somewhere_. We’d be fine.”

“...I guess, man,” Joe finally releases his death grip on James’ arms, “Sure, yeah, you’re right, I guess.”

“Okay,” Brett says after a second too long of quiet, “Let’s get to the lobby for those shots. Maybe we can convince Mister Rock Star to leave his cave and join us for a few establishing shots outside.”

“Good luck with that,” James mutters under his breath, and Joe keeps close to him as they start heading down the hallway again. It’s not like Joe to be so… James doesn’t want to call it _twitchy,_ but Joe’s pretty chill most of the time. Whatever’s got him so spooked must really be messing with him. He doesn’t leave James’ side for the entire trek back to the lobby, nor when they poke their heads into the room to see if Aleks wants to join them.

“I’m good,” he says, and James almost growls in frustration. “Seriously, I’ll be in all the con shots and whatever, I’m not in the mood for the camera right now. Okay?”

“Not really,” James says through his teeth, but Aleks just shrugs at him. He doesn’t understand why even Aleks wants to be so _difficult,_ and then pretend like he’s the only one with any sense right now. It’s condescending, and it’s unnecessary, but rather than pick another fight like he wants to James just slams the door shut behind himself and takes a deep breath.

Somehow, that works.

“Jesus,” Aleks says, opening the door up again, and he looks pissed. “Fine, I’ll come for the stupid hotel shots. Whatever, dude. Stop throwing such a tantrum every time someone disagrees with you.”

“Oh, wow, amazing, you’ve decided to actually grace us with your presence,” James says sourly, crossing his arms over his stomach. Aleks makes a face at him, but otherwise doesn’t answer. He’s still got his phone in his hands, and he’s still typing something about, but it’s really the sneer on his face that almost gets James to bristle.

The other three are looking on with a little bit of trepidation, like they don’t want to intrude on whatever lover’s spat seems to be happening. Brett, especially, for some reason keeps his distance, and there’s a crease between his eyebrows as he looks between James and Aleks and then back again.

“Let’s go outside so Trev can get some money shots,” he says after a minute. “I’ll take some pictures for the Patreon, too.”

They still somehow don’t see anyone when they leave out through the lobby. It’s stopped being so much an odd thing as it is off-putting, but they all seem to make a collective decision not to discuss it. It’s the middle of the day, the sun high and barely covered by any clouds, but yet when they step out into the parking lot the only vehicle there is their van.

“It was like this earlier, too,” Joe says too quietly, and James can hear the click of his throat as he swallows nervously. “Like… I seriously think we might be the only ones staying here.”

“Well, the old fuck at the front desk said they don’t get a lot of visitors all that often,” Brett says a little distractedly; he’s pulled out his phone and he’s taking some shots of the hotel’s exterior, presumably to upload onto Patreon. “Which, by the way, I’m starting to understand more and more the longer we stay here. I’m gonna call Linds again,” he adds, lowering his phone again. That’s the best plan that James has heard all day, and he watches as Brett goes a little ways from their group, brings his phone to his ear.

Trevor’s completely immersed in whatever it is he’s doing with the camera, and Aleks is squinting up at the sky for a second or two before he looks down the road, then the other way. He blinks too many times, like he’s waking up from a nap, but then as James stares at him he just looks back down at his phone again.

He’s hoping Lindsey will have a solution for them, and sure enough when Brett comes back towards them, there’s a relieved smile on his face.

“Four hours,” he says. It’s still way too long of a wait for James’ tastes, but it’s better than nothing. “She said give her four hours and they’ll come pick us up. Are we happy now?”

“Thrilled,” James says, and means it. He wants out of this place as soon as physically possible. For the first time since their scare in the hallway, he can feel Joe unclenching, can feel where the tension starts to leave his body a little bit. Aleks looks relieved as well, if not in a milder way, and James can’t even muster up any vitriol to be angry about it.

“What about the van?” Trevor asks, briefly looking into the camera’s viewfinder before taking his head away again.

Brett shrugs.

“Just gonna have to call the rental company and tell them to come pick it up. It broke down.” He scratches at his nose. “Not much we can do about that, right?”

It’s a pretty logical line of thinking, and James can’t say that he’s all that mad about it. He’d much rather leave the van here and pay the extra fee for doing so then stay any longer than they have to. Already he wants to head back inside and pack up all their shit, just wait in the van until Lindsey and the others arrive to rescue them from this fucking horror show.

“Well, we’ve got time to kill,” Trevor says after a moment, and gestures with the camera a little. “We could always get a few more interior shots, maybe check out the upstairs? I dunno. Something to pass the time?”

“We’ve got nothing else better to do,” Brett says, and he shrugs again as he looks back down at his phone. “I got some good pictures of the outside. What about that weird painting in that hallway? Could take a picture of that, too.”

“Why,” James says slowly, “do you want to go back _in there?_ ”

They both look over at him, and even Joe gives James a bit of an unsure little side-eye. Aleks is engrossed in something on his phone, too into that to really care. But James cannot fucking conceptualize why they’d be talking about what they can do at this shitty, creepy hotel while they wait for the rest of their group to come pick them up. Did they not notice the creepy shit?

The wind blows all around them, a sudden breeze that sends shivers right down James’ spine. Brett’s eyebrows are drawn together again as he studies James curiously, like he’s not sure what he means.

“Well,” he says slowly, “we have to get our stuff anyway. And Linds said they won’t be here for four hours, James. That’s a lot of time to kill.”

“I’m done with this place,” James says firmly, a little shrilly. “I don’t want to _film_ anything, can’t we just, I don’t know, wait out here?”

“That’s just stupid,” Brett says, a little harshly. James feels his heart clench up a bit at the unwitting insult. “And, and _unreasonable_. Seriously, we just—” He makes an impatient little noise, rubs his hands through his hair as it’s clear he tries to pull his thoughts into a path that’s not going to set everybody off again. “It’s only for a little while longer, James. Okay? Then we don’t have to ever see this place again.”

He wants to argue. He wants to ask why Brett’s suddenly just against him every step of the way, won’t even be _sympathetic_ to how creeped out James has been by this place from the very start. But it won’t do any of them any good, all it’ll do is make them fight again and then the ride back is going to be an absolute nightmare. He looks over at Aleks, half-pleading, asking for some backup, but Aleks just… gives him an almost soft little _I dunno, man_ shrug, tilts his head just slightly back towards the hotel.

His argument’s been made for him.

“Don’t put any of that shit in the video, Trevor,” he snaps, and stalks back towards the entrance.

Joe catches up with him before he even reaches the door and that, at least, makes him feel a little better. Even at his worst, he always has Joe.

-

Four hours, on the fucking dot, later - and no Lindsey.

James has their bag of shit sitting on the ground at his feet; he and Joe had gone in and packed up and then hung out in the dining area until it was time to go. They hadn’t spoke to the other three since their argument in the parking lot, and James isn’t actually sure if they had been watching the clock like he had, but they aren’t in the parking lot and he and Joe are.

“Maybe,” Joe clears his throat, rocks back on his heels, “Maybe call her?”

“What, I shouldn’t wait for _Brett_?” James snaps, and then immediately regrets it, “Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Joe shrugs, even though it really isn’t, “Just...call her. Brett’s not here, even. Maybe they can’t find the right turn off.”

James, after a brief decision making that consisted of how desperate he is to leave versus how annoyed Lindsey and Brett would be if he interrupts _their_ call to ask about when she’s going to be at the _fucking hotel_ that does not take him long at all to decide on, pulls his phone out and taps at the screen until her number comes up.

It rings, the space between the tones a static-y white noise instead of silence, for a few seconds before she finally picks up.

“James?” She answers, sounding far away. Jesus, the connection is fucking terrible here, “Hey, what’s up?”

“Where are you guys?” James demands, then tries to dial it back a little, “I mean, Brett said you’d be here around now.”

“Oh, fuck,” She says, and then James is pretty sure she says something else but static comes through and she cuts out like a fucking robot.

“Hey, can you hear me?” He says, louder, and walks a little bit away from the building and toward the road in the hopes of getting rid of some of the interference, “Lindsey?”

“I’m here!” She snaps back, “Can _you_ hear _me_!?”

“Yes,” he says, sharper than maybe necessary, but he’s only reacting to her aggression. “There are a lot of fucking trees here.”

“I _said_ ,” She starts, but now she sounds even more distant - the farther toward the road he walks, the more tinny she becomes until she’s like a whisper, “That we can’t make it.”

“ _What_!?”

“Traffic,” she gets out, and then it’s like she isn’t even there until he turns around from where he’s stationed himself in the middle of the goddamn road and heads back toward the hotel, “...bad crash on….hours on the roads...tomorrow morning...talked to Brett about it already,”

“You talked to Brett?” He turns a glare on Joe - and he isn’t _mad_ at _Joe_ , but, _fuck_ , she’d already talked to Brett? Why hadn’t he told one of them? Fuck, they’d been waiting for literal _hours_ , how long had Brett known?

“Earlier,” She agrees, sounding as good as he was apparently going to get around here, “We can be there tomorrow morning, around ten,”

“Lindsey, God damn it!” He nearly stamps his foot in frustration, and yeah, okay, maybe he’s fucking shouting, but, “This place is a rundown, freaky piece of shit and I want to get out!”

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t control the road conditions of the state, James!” She says, and he can’t tell if she is as angry as she sounds or if the static was making it worse, “You’ll have to wait!”

“We _did_ wait!” He groans, “Brett won’t let us get a fuckin’ Uber, you said you’d _be here_!”

“Will you stop being so _impatient_ , James? Think of other people, for once,”

“What does _that_ mean!?”  

“It _means_ ,” She stresses, “That one of us will have to sit in _six hours_ of traffic to reach you and then sit in six hours of traffic _again_ on the way back if we leave now. Just spend the night at the goddamn hotel, we’ll come get you tomorrow!”

“ _For once_!?” James says, still stuck on her previous statement, “Is there a fucking problem you want to bring up with me?”

“No, James,” And it’s Lindsey’s turn to groan, “Forget I said anything. We’ll see you tomorrow,”

“No,” He curls his free hand into a fist at his side, refuses to think about the icy heat in his belly, “No, you said it so you _obviously_ meant _something_ , so what did you mean?”

“Fine,” She pauses, “You’re stressing Brett the fuck out. He’s been blowing up my phone trying to get you out of there and you’re being kind of an asshole - like usual, when you get upset. So just - _stop_. Leave everyone alone, chill out, _relax at the hotel_ , and don’t be so - fucking selfish. Brett won’t say it, but I will.”

James pulls the phone away from his face, stares at it in shock for a long second and then returns to the call.

“I -” He starts, and then doesn’t know how to continue. “ _This_ is what you and Brett have been talking about.”

“James, leave Brett out of this,” She says, sharp and hard, “You’ve done enough on him, don’t you think?”

“ _Me_!?”

“Yes, you!” She sighs, loud and angry, “Look. I have to go, there’s a lot we have to set up for the con with you guys not here. We’ll be there in the morning, at ten. Let Brett know, okay? Bye.”

She hangs up before he can even gather himself enough to say anything back. There’s still static in his ear, but he actually...isn’t sure if that’s his phone or just the blood rushing.

“What’d she say?” Joe breaks his silence, stepping forward when James just shakes his head, “Uh, not good?”

“They can’t make it,” James tries to open the Uber app but it won’t fucking load. Just as he thinks the loading screen is about to stop, his fucking phone - goes dark. “Come the fuck _on_ ,” he barely managed not to hurl the damn thing onto the parking lot concrete, realizes its overheated in the hot sun of whatever fucking _state they’re in_.

“They can’t _make it_?” Joe startles, his eyes going big and wide and - fuck, scared, “We have to stay here again!?”

“Looks like it,” James swallows hard, “Brett knew, apparently. Just didn’t bother to tell us.”

Joe frowns at that, picks their overnight bag up off the ground and slings it over his shoulder, “What was that last part about?”

“Uh,” James blanks, doesn’t know what to say, “Nothing. Important, nothing important. Just, uh...something I need to talk to Brett about.”

“Seriously?” Joe puts a steady hand on his arm, “You kinda look like you’re about to cry or somethin’, dude.”

“I’m not,” James shrugs him off, reluctantly heads for the front door, “Come on, man. Let’s...go fuckin’ find the others, or whatever.”

He yanks the door open, tries not to notice that his hand is shaking where he’s gripping the knob, and just so happens to come face to face with the last person he wants to see right now.

“Jesus,” Brett takes a hard step back, “What are you - have you seriously been standing out here? For how long?”

“I dunno, Brett,” James swallows again, and he knows he’s coming off as accusing - because he is fucking accusing, “I just talked to Lindsey. Looks like we’re staying another night,”

“Yeah,” Brett nods, looking pained, “I just talked to her -”

“Oh,” James forces a smile, thin-lipped, “I know. Apparently, you’ve been talkin’ a _lot_.”

“What...does that even mean, James?” Brett pulls a face, “Look, I don’t want to fight right now,”

“It means,” James shoves his phone in his pocket and shoves past him, into the hotel, “That you’re an _asshole_ ,”

“ _What_?” Brett gaps at him, like he’s innocent, like he and Lindsey haven’t been fucking _shit talking_ James behind his back; like he didn’t just let James fucking stand outside for however long he’s known that they weren’t getting picked up, like he thinks he can just - do _normal things_ while telling his best friend that one of his boyfriends is fucking _selfish_ and _stressing him out_. Like James isn’t stressed the fuck out, in this stupid _fucking_ hotel because he let Brett go with the cheap rental instead of the more expensive one like James had wanted and it broke down, because he let Brett talk him into staying instead of just calling a fucking Uber like he’d wanted to.

“You heard me,” James feels a stinging in his cheeks, a tell-tale sign that he needs to go somewhere fucking alone before he goddamn cries like a teenage girl, “You think you’re the only one who’s fucking - trying, here? You think, Jesus, you think I _want_ to be freaking out? I’m having a prolonged goddamn panic attack here, dude, I’m not purposefully trying to be a bitch all the time!”

“I don’t even know what you’re _talking about_!” Brett threw his arms out, and James knew he didn’t mean to be - but he was big and tall and had very big arms and it was - intimidating, kind of, to be loomed over. James takes a step away, toward the dining hall.

“Of course not,” James clenches his hands into tight fists at his side, “Why would you!? I’m just overreacting, right?”

“ _Yes_!” Brett points at him, “There’s a pretty fucking high probability that Mister Made-Famous-By-Screaming is _overreacting_!”

“Stop!” Joe steps between them, a bracing hand on both of their chests because they have, at some point, moved close enough that he needs to do that, “Fuckin’ - what the hell is even happening here? Both of you calm down, okay?”

“He -” Brett started, voice raised enough that it almost echoed in the lobby. Jokes on him, because James _guaran-fucking-tees_ that he can be fucking louder - but Brett seems to decide he’s had enough. That he’s taking the fucking high ground or some shit, that James isn’t _worth the fight_ , because he takes a deep, hard breath and then exhales and steps away. Joe drops his arm, but keeps the one against James.

“Fine.” Brett says tightly, “ _I’m_ the asshole for trying to get us out of here. It’s somehow _my_ fault that you’re having a goddamn mental breakdown over a _hotel_ ,”

James wants to retort, but his tongue is dry and heavy in his mouth and all he can do is pant and shake and try not to cry in the middle of this fucking lobby.

“Lunch is ready.” Brett points and James, a burning rage in his stomach that is only rage and not at all every bad thought and insecurity he’s ever fucking had, turns on his heels and marches into the dining area like a goddamn soldier.

There’s a new buffet laid out on the table, and James is hungry in that way that means his body wants it but if he were to try to eat he would just rage-barf it up the minute it hits the back of his throat. Aleks is sitting at the table, picking at his plate of mashed potatoes and beef with a fork, but he doesn’t look particularly uncomfortable. Just bored, a little irritated. He doesn’t even look up when James, and Joe close behind, come in.

Trevor is there, too, but he’s obviously uncomfortable - just staring at his plate, cheeks puffed out with food because he always feels like if he stuffs his face during an argument, no one will ask him to weigh in.

James sits at the opposite end to them, sitting down hard enough that the chair scrapes against the wooden floor, and Joe joins him with a little more delicacy, worriedly looking the spread over.

Brett, after a brief absence, joins them. He sits between Aleks and Trevor, obviously trying to hide how irritated he is. James hopes he’s fucking fuming. He hopes that being the bigger man is _eating him up_ and he hopes Brett just explodes with it all, soon. He wants to hear it from Brett’s own mouth - what he really thinks of James.

“So you heard the news,” Joe breaks the silence, talking to Trevor in a tone that sounds close to how it feels the moment between knocking a vase over and the moment it shatters.

“Staying another night.” Trevor says slowly in response, sounding like he’s stuck in that same moment, “Excited.”

“Yep,” Joe says, and then they all sit there awkwardly, except for _fucking Aleks_ , who just goes on picking at his food. He hasn’t even _looked_ at James, or at Brett, and it makes James even angrier. Does Aleks think the same way Brett does? Or is he annoyed with them both? Or does he just not give a shit at all?

Somehow, it’s that last option that finally makes James act.

Maybe one of his boyfriends apparently doesn’t like him, and the other one doesn’t give a flying fuck about him, but fucking _Joe_ has been with him the whole damn time and Joe has been putting up with him without a word. And, obviously, his fucking anxiety is connected to the food and James hadn’t seen him eat a thing all day except for a few bites in the morning.

“Come on,” He nudges him, tapes the empty plate in front of Joe, “Fill this up. Eat.”

“I’d rather,” Joe starts to protest, but James reaches out and picks up a bread roll and then drops it in front of him.

“Eat, Joe. You’re gonna need the energy to deal with this bullshit tonight.”

Joe sighs, but he picks up the roll and picks at the crusty outer layer. It isn’t until James grabs one and takes a big bite that Joe seems assured enough to actually eat, even if it’s just the roll.

James spends the lunch slowly forcing Joe to eat different things, usually by eating them first, and refusing to look at the others. Trevor’s not on his shit-list, not yet, but, to be fair, Trevor and James are close but they aren’t Trevor-and-Aleks or Trevor-and-Brett close, or even Trevor-and-Joe close. He isn’t under any illusions that he has an unwavering loyalty in Trevor’s corner and that doesn’t _bother him_ , but it doesn’t make him feel particularly charitable, either.

Lunch is silent, just the scraping of plates as everyone eats and James occasionally convincing Joe to try this or eat that. It goes on entirely too long, and James is right. He’s not even half a plate into his mashed potatoes when he gets the feeling that eating anymore is going to result with him throwing it all up in an hour.

Aleks doesn’t talk the whole time, Brett tensely chews on an apple - loud and crisp and, James is sure, one hundred percent being eaten to annoy him - and Trevor keeps his head down.

It’s when James is sure that Joe’s eaten enough to survive for the night that he finally stands up.

“We’re gonna go chill in Joe’s room,” He says, “Not that anyone fucking cares.”

Brett groans in annoyance, mutters, “Fuckin’ _here we go_ ,” but James ignores him.

“Maybe I’ll stop by later,” Trevor says, looking nervous, and Joe stands up and gives him a thumbs up.

“Sounds good, dude. See you guys later,”

James waits for him to push his chair in like the polite fucker Joe is, then they leave their dishes in the right place and head out. James doesn’t look behind him - but he almost does. He’s just - angry. Hurt, and upset, and _angry_.

“You okay?” Joe nudges him back when they’ve made it down the hall and are well out of hearing range of the others.

“No,” James admits, “But it’s fine. I just wanna - take a nap, or something. In your room.”

“That’s fine,” Joe glances down, “We left the bag, so, uh, you’re kinda stuck in those clothes.”

James glances down, too - he’s wearing a tee he isn’t entirely sure was originally his and some jeans. It’ll do, and he says as much.

Joe seems to have a better handle on the hallway because it looks the exact same to James but Joe doesn’t even hesitate in his strides until they reach his door. He unlocks it after looking up and down the hall, pushes the door open and turns the light on before he even walks in.

There’s a camera set up on a tripod in the corner of the room, facing the door and bed, and James blinks at it in surprise as he walks in.

“Uh,”

“Security,” Joe explains, a little embarrassed, “It’s a feed to my laptop, so…”

“You’re recording your room?” James thinks about that for a second, then gives in and shuts the door behind him. He hears it lock automatically, and he feels - safe, for now. No one else can bother him if Joe is the only one with the key and Joe is right fucking there with him.

“Just in case,” Joe shrugs, sits on the bed, “You wanted to nap?”  
“Yes,” James kicks off his shoes, drops his pants and then yanks the comforter down and crawls into the bed so he can collapse and yell loudly into one of the pillows until most of the pent-up aggression leaks out of him.

“Feel better?” Joe asks, once he’s settled, and it’s a little amused.

“Yes, thank you,” James finds it in himself to mumble back. “Sorry.”

“Shut up,” Joe shoves at his shoulder, and he’s smiling. He looks relaxed, finally; content. James is glad that he can, at least, provide Joe with a sense of comfort.

“Take your fucking nap, you preschooler,” Joe pulls his own phone out of his pocket, “I’ll wake you up in a few hours, if you don’t wake up yourself.”

“Thanks, man,” James pats at his leg, through the blankets, and his voice is drowsy, but he wonders if Joe really knows how - thankful, maybe, that James is. All his shit, and Joe hasn’t left his side since they were goddamn middle schoolers.

Joe says something, soft and fond, but James is exhausted - mostly mentally, but he’s not exactly physically rested, either - and he falls asleep against the cool pillow and warm blankets and the familiar, comforting presence of his best friend beside him.

He’ll go back to his room for the night but, for now, this is what he wants.

 


	3. Day 2

 Aleks is used to waking up missing one or the other boyfriend. Sometimes it’s James, because he got a bug up his ass about something and needed to get up and do it _right then_ , but most of the time it’s Brett, because of the whole working out at four am thing. He was not, however, used to going to _sleep_ without one of them, and that is what happened last night. James hadn’t even texted to let them know he wouldn’t be coming back to the room, and Brett had been freaking out for hours before Aleks had finally patted his shoulder, told him it would be fine, and gone to bed.

In the back of his mind he knows that probably was a shit move. But it’s not like James can get _lost_ in a fucking hotel, and chances are that he’s just shacking up with Joe or Trevor in order to get over whatever temper tantrum it was that he had been throwing in the dining room. The thing is, Brett can be anxious even at the best of times, but Aleks knows it’s likely all for nothing as usual. Wherever James is, it can’t be anything bad, getting all worked up about it isn’t going to help or hurt. It’s just going to be really annoying.

“He could at least text us,” Brett had said into the darkness of the hotel room, and Aleks had just yawned into his pillow.

“Yeah, well, I’m not gonna pretend to know what goes on in his head when he’s freaking out like this,” he had said, snuggled a little bit more under the blankets. “Just go to sleep. He’s fine.”

“Aleks!” Brett had snapped at him, sounding angry, but Aleks had just ignored him. He’d been tired, even for not doing anything much aside from explore the room a little and find exactly one cool thing, and he hadn’t wanted to deal with either of their dramatics anymore after all of the fuckin’ mediation he’d had to do, so he’d just slept.

Morning, now, was a different story. Brett is giving him the cold shoulder, but Aleks will make it up to him, somehow; maybe when Brett and James have both calmed down.

“I’m gonna go find him,” Brett mumbles from the far side of the bed, “Are you coming or what?”

Aleks, barely awake but aware enough to know how loaded that question is, weighs the pros and cons of pissing off Brett before a con where Brett kind of controls his whole schedule or upsetting James just before spending three days doing panels, meet-and-greets, and fan meet-ups with him, and makes the decision to get up and grab the pants he’d worn yesterday.

“Yes, dear,” He yawns, slow and deep, and Brett makes an annoyed noise that isn’t as annoyed as it _could_ have been, so Aleks probably made the right choice.

He checks himself out in the mirror real quick while they’re getting dressed, and Brett’s brushing his teeth with a line between his eyes that means he’s pissed off. The bruises on both of their necks are still pretty vivid, and Aleks touches one with the tips of his fingers and a slight rise of his chin. Jesus. They didn’t have to act like they were trying to eat him alive.

“We could probably just text Joe,” he offers, watches Brett spit all the foamy toothpaste out into the sink and run the water. “Or Trevor. We don’t have to, like, start a whole search and rescue operation just because James is being shitty.”

“I just want to make sure he’s okay,” Brett says, sounding annoyed now. He gives Aleks a glance with a critical eye, but Aleks just shrugs and musses up his own hair before leaving the bathroom again. He’s not in the mood for a fight, but seems like stating your opinion is the number one invitation to start arguing all of a sudden so he’s not going to push it.

He waits by the bed while Brett finishes up, spots the edge of the Ouija board he’d found earlier and nudges it back under the bed with his toe. He thinks it might be fun to bring out next time Joe or Trevor come around, just because they’re the only ones who aren’t chomping at the bits to start a fight every chance they get. If Brett or James found it, they’d probably lose their shit, so he hadn’t mentioned it to either of them.

“We’ll start at Joe’s,” Brett says as he comes out of the bathroom, still pulling on his tee from the first day in the van, “Then Trevor’s, then the dining room,”

“Yes, sir,” Aleks salutes, then shoves his hands in his pants and follows Brett to the door when he just gets a glare in return.

The halls are still empty when they step outside again, the door clicking shut behind them. Aleks is pretty used to bustling hotels and constant movement, but they’re in the middle of nowhere, so it makes sense. He cranes his neck to look down one side, then the other, and follows after Brett as the latter starts to make his way towards Joe’s room. He doesn’t know what’s crawled up Brett’s ass; his back is stock straight and he looks like he’s permanently angry, keeps running his hands down his beard now and again in a nervous tic that Aleks recognizes.

But it’s so _stupid_ for everyone to be freaking out the way they are; it’s literally just a hotel, and they’re all acting like it’s the end of the world.

He hovers nearby, hands in his pockets and a little bored, as Brett raps sharply on Joe’s door, and they hear a scuffling from inside, Joe’s voice distantly.

“Coming, hold on! Hold on…”

Aleks isn’t exactly in a hurry, so he leans against the wall across from the door while they wait. He can hear stumbling, Joe’s familiar mutterings and the creaking of a bed, and then - sharp, someone’s phone going off. He’d left his in the room, the reception here was shit and he didn’t have anyone that would be calling him anyway, so he right assumes it was Brett’s.

“Shit,” Brett frowns, glances at his phone, Aleks, the door, back to his phone, “It’s Linds. Check for James, okay? I’ll be back in a minute.”

Aleks shrugs, Brett glares, puts the phone to his ear and turns on the heels of his boots as he starts talking, “Hey, Linds, you on your way?”

He’s down the hall a bit, far enough that Aleks is having just a little trouble hearing him, when Joe finally opens the door, rubbing his tired eyes.

“Oh, Aleks,” Joe blinks slow, “What’s up? Dinner, already?”

That gets a laugh out of him, a little startled but mostly just confused.

“Joe, what the fuck, it’s like… eight in the morning, dude.” When Joe blinks at him, Aleks holds out his watch, taps it a couple times. “We didn’t even fuckin’ see you at dinner.”

“It’s morning?” Joe asks, and he seems a bit more awake now. “Oh, shit.”

Remembering the whole reason he’s even here in the first place, Aleks tilts his head to look over the top of Joe’s, tries to catch a glimpse inside. It’s a fairly sized room from what he can see, but Joe’s still got the door mostly closed, like he doesn’t really want Aleks getting in.

“James in there with you?” he asks, and Joe scratches at some of his shaggy hair.

“Uh, yeah,” he says after a moment. “Yeah, no, he… came back with me after, uh, after lunch and I guess we fell asleep a lot longer than we meant to.” He clears his throat into his fist, and Aleks figures he remembers the stale, uncomfortable silence that they’d all sat in during lunch. “Um, yeah. Hey, James!”

Aleks can barely hear James’ reply, high and muffled.

“What?”

“Aleks is here. Come on.”

“Aleks?” James finally appears, and he looks sleep rumpled. If Aleks weren’t still dull with sleep himself, he’d think it was kind of cute. His hair is down, more of a cloud than his usual bun, and he isn’t wearing pants, just boxers and his tee. “Oh. What? Come to silently judge me some more?”

“I wasn’t doing shit, man,” Aleks slouches his shoulders in tighter, “Look, Brett was worried. We came to find you.”

“It’s been,” James checks his phone quick, “Less than half an hour since I last saw you and Brett takes at _least_ an hour to chill out after a fight, so whatever this is,” James motions between them, “I don’t like it.”

“James,” Aleks frowns, finally feeling the faint stirrings of irritation, “You didn’t fucking come back to the room last night. He was up pacing for literally hours. Can you just show yourself so he doesn’t think the Monster House ate you?”

“What the hell are you talking about, man?” James checks his phone again and Aleks watches the way his eyes go big and wide - that shocked face he makes when something that isn’t supposed to be on fire is suddenly on fire, “What the - fuck? What time is it?”

“You have a phone.” Aleks says pointedly, “Right. Right there in your hand, dude.”

“That’s not the poi—dude, seriously?” James looks over at Joe, who just shrugs a bit helplessly. “How did we sleep for that long?”

“It’s not that big a deal,” Aleks says, and there’s something almost like annoyance that’s starting to seep into his words. “People sleep longer than they’re supposed to all the time. You’re just fuckin’ freaking yourselves out.”

Whatever James had been planning on saying in response is lost to the sound of Brett’s frustrated growl, high and angry and loud even from the other end of the hallway. He starts stalking back towards their little group, clutching his phone in his hand so tightly that it’s a wonder it’s not about to snap. He looks _pissed,_ looks like he could punch a hole in the wall at any minute.

“Lindsey said they’re not coming,” he says through his teeth, and then rounds on James almost immediately after. “You mind telling me where the _fuck_ you’ve been?”

“Apparently,” James says, mild, but Aleks can see that he’s already on the defense. The slump of his shoulders - kind of tensed when he’d been talking to Aleks - go straight and rigid, drawing himself up. When Brett gets _pissed_ , Aleks tends to just step out of his way until he’s calmed down, but James always goes head first like they’re two goddamn bulls. “I slept longer than planned. Even though my alarm hasn’t even gone off, yet.”

“You should have at least _texted_ one of us,” Brett shoves his phone in his pocket, but Aleks can see the way his muscles are coiled, the tension in his shoulders.

“What part of _sleeping_ was unclear, there?” James snaps, “What? You wanna call Lindsey back and tell her how fuckin’ shitty I am some more?”

“I _told you_ ,” Brett practically hisses at him, “I _don’t_ _know_ what you’re _talking about_. What I _do know_ is that we called you like four times and you never fuckin’ picked up!”

“I didn’t get any calls!” James shoves his phone in Brett’s face, “So maybe dislodge the goddamn pole up your ass and calm the hell down!”

“You’re the one fuckin’ -” Brett takes a hard, deep breath, “You know what? Fuck you. I dunno why I even _cared_!”

“Me neither,” James smiles, sharp and mean, “Since apparently I’m just a fuckin’ burden to you.”

“I’m not fucking doing this with you,” and Brett’s tone is just as _mean,_ as spiteful, “just because you’ve been throwing a temper tantrum since we _got here_ -”

“Can you both just shut the fuck up?” Aleks says loudly, now really annoyed with the direction the conversation’s taken. They’re both clearly trying to get into an argument for argument’s sake, neither one of them making any effort to appease the other, and it’s just frustrating and stupid. Joe’s shrunk back a little bit into his room, looking between the two of them like he’s afraid he might get caught in the crossfire. “Jesus Christ, don’t you have _anything_ better to do than rip each other’s throats out?”

Brett’s mouth thins as he looks over at Aleks, and his eyes are hard before he turns on his heel and stalks off towards Trevor’s door instead.

“Fine,” he says loudly, with finality, and Aleks can see James’ eyes tracking his every move. “Fine. Fuck it. Trevor!” That he directs at the door, and despite the time it’s barely a couple of seconds before it opens, and Trevor looks irritated.

“Jesus, why are you shouting,” he says, and rubs at one eye. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We’re going to fix the van.”

“What?”

“The _van_ , Trevor,” Brett repeats, obviously trying to keep his voice steady, not take it out on Trevor, “We need to go fix it. Come with me.”

Aleks watches Trevor take in the scene - Joe shrunken into his room, James a tense mess of rage, Brett rigid and practically growling - and then slowly nod.

“Yeah, okay, uh, give me… gimme a second to get my shoes.”

Brett waves him off, crosses his arms tight across his chest and he won’t look at any of them. Part of Aleks wants to go to him, another wants to go to James, but most of him just wants them both to fuck off at this point.

Trevor comes back out a few seconds later, feet in shoes but heels pressing the back down in a way that is seriously not good for shoe integrity, and then he and Brett are gone - down the hallway toward the lobby.

Aleks watches them go, still with a little bit of annoyance, but it’s a lot better that Brett removes himself from the situation entirely instead of trying to escalate it. He doesn’t know how much Trevor’s going to help Brett’s mood, since Trevor can be just as irritating on a bad day, but he knows their weird friendship is probably going to at least take Brett’s mind off things for a little bit. Which is a lot better than what can be said of James, who looks like he’s still ready to bristle at the slightest provocation.

“What’s he being such a dick for?” he asks tightly, and Aleks rolls his eyes. Yep, there it is.

“You’re both being dicks,” he says, nods his head a little in Joe’s direction. “And you’re scaring the fuck outta poor Joe.”

Joe laughs a little breathlessly, shaking his head as he finally opens the door a bit more, closes it behind himself after clearly checking to make sure he has the key in his pocket.

“No, it’s not - I’m just weirded out, that’s all,” he explains, looks between the two of them. “I’ve just never seen you guys duke it out like that before.”

“Yeah, well,” James clenches his fists, “Lindsey’s never told me exactly how often Brett complains about me before, either.”

Aleks _would_ ask, but it sounds like it’s a situation he doesn’t want to involve himself in. If he’s honest with himself, he just wants to go back to sleep. Maybe grab something to eat before he goes, but the dining room is by the lobby and he doesn’t wanna chance running into Brett and Trevor.

“Look,” he says instead, stepping into James’ space. James doesn’t look like he appreciates it until Aleks presses his palms to James’ cheeks, cups his face and tilts it down a little - and then he kind of… blooms under Aleks’ touch. Aleks can see how upset he actually is, under the anger, and it makes something in him sting because he really doesn’t like when James looks like this. He kisses him, once, just something slow and intimate and not for anyone else but he and James, and James, after a second, kisses him back with what tastes like desperation and feels like a cry.

“Everyone is just fucked up right now, for some reason,” he continues, once he’s pulled away. He strokes James’ cheek with his thumb and James won’t meet his eye for more than a few seconds, but they’re big and kind of wet and Aleks isn’t particularly fond of that but there’s nothing he can do to make James feel better except this. “You and Brett need to stop going after each other. Whatever Lindsey told you, I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding. So just… chill. Okay?”

James’ lips twist, but Aleks traces his cheekbones with his thumbs and it finally makes the angry armor crack enough that James goes limp.

“Okay,” James agrees, small, and Aleks rewards him with another soft kiss, which he responds to as if Aleks hadn’t kissed him in fifty years.

“Good.” Aleks drops his hands, takes a step back, “Now. I’m gonna go back to fucking sleep. You two go - explore or something. Film some more for BTS. Maybe you can find something to make a real video out of, hm?”

Neither one of them look particularly happy with that; Joe’s eyes go wide like he’s scared of the very thought of having to step more than a couple of feet outside his room, and James frowns at him, the corners of his mouth turning down as both of his eyes flick between Aleks’. He looks like he wants to argue again, but after a few seconds of deliberation, he nods.

“Yeah,” he mutters, runs a hand through his thick mess of hair. “Yeah, yeah, okay. Joe and I can find some stupid shit to film, I guess.”

There’s definitely a look of betrayal on Joe’s face at that, but he nods when it becomes clear that he’s not going to have much of a choice in the matter. He slips his key back inside the lock and disappears into his room again, leaving the door cracked open just a bit behind himself. That leaves Aleks and James alone in the hallway for a moment before Aleks starts to back away again.

“Just… I promise things are gonna be okay,” he says, and James’ unhappy frown deepens. He looks like he wants nothing more than to follow Aleks back inside the bedroom, but he doesn’t. He only stands there, watching as Aleks head towards their room backwards, and just offers up a single word.

“Yeah.”

He has no doubt it’s going to be fine, though, and he gives James just a small little grin until he reaches their door, tugs his key back out of his pocket. James and Brett both need to chill the fuck out and figure out why they’re so on edge, but until they do Aleks isn’t going to let it bother him much. They usually work through their shit pretty quickly, and he has a feeling that as soon as they’re not freaking the fuck out over this stupid hotel, things will be easier to understand.

He shoots James one last glance before he goes back in, and James is still watching him with that frown. He gives him a thumbs up, just to try one last thing to improve his mood, and then lets the door shut behind him. He kicks off his shoes, shoves his pants back down, crawls back between the sheets and snuggles into his pillow. The bed feels big without the other two, but it also feels a hell of a lot less stressful. He kind of wants some tea, strangely, but it’s not hard to ignore the craving and fall back asleep.

-

Brett makes it all the way to the van before he kicks the tire and yells as loud as he can just to release his _frustration_. He should have asked Lindsey what the _fuck_ she’d said to James that has him in such a fucking bitch-fit but he’d been so angry about her not being able to come get them again that he’d _forgotten_. If he just _knew_ what the fuck James was talking about, he could have some sort of _response_. Instead, he’s stuck grasping at straws that James is throwing like needles every time they make eye contact and punishing him by disappearing for a full night without telling anyone and -

“Brett!” Trevor says loudly, sounding a little worried, “Brett, dude, calm the fuck down. You’re gonna break your foot, dude!”

“Good, maybe we can take the fucking ambulance out of here since nothing else seems to be working,” Brett snaps, runs his fingers through his hair and then twists some of it and _pulls._ It hurts, just little pinpricks to shove him back into reality, and he growls again before letting his arms fall, leans against the van with his head tilted up.

“Dude, what the fuck,” Trevor says, and he’s keeping his distance but still looks concerned enough. “Did I miss something?”

“James is determined to argue with me,” Brett replies in a monotone, staring at the sky with his eyebrows together. “And it’s really starting to piss me off.”

Trevor makes a noise like a sigh, presses the heels of his hands into his eyes really hard for a moment before he speaks again, leaving them there. He sounds like he’s choosing his words carefully, which given that it’s _Trevor,_ that must mean that he’s noticed the tension in the air. Usually Trevor tends to just say the first thing that comes to mind, but Brett knows he’s made the tone of their conversation a bit delicate.

“Do you think maybe, like… you’re kind of both just arguing with each other?” Trevor asks, finally lowering his hands, and Brett turns to scowl at him. “No, like. Listen, you just… both of you keep fuckin’ going at it and it’s starting to get really old, you know?” He gestures at Brett a little vaguely. “None of us wanna be here, just… quit taking it out on each other.”

“I will if he does,” Brett says darkly, and Trevor rolls his eyes, leans against the van next to him. Brett’s only really watching him out of the corner of his eye, but he sees how Trevor turns to look the van up and down, some of his hair falling into his eyes before he brushes it back.

“Do you even know how to fix this?” he asks, sounding unsure again, and Brett sighs loudly.

“Not really, but it’s better than sitting on my fucking ass and waiting for a solution to just fall into our laps.” He looks over at Trevor, squints at him now that he’s close enough that Brett can really _look_ at him. “You okay?”

Trevor hums, makes fleeting eye contact. “What?”

“You look… off,” Brett says, and reaches out to turn Trevor’s chin with his thumb and forefinger. He’s been growing out his beard lately, and it makes him look a little less baby-faced, but that doesn’t mean Brett’s going to back off on watching out for him any time soon. “You get enough sleep last night?”

Trevor’s quiet for a moment, then shrugs. “Yeah. Enough, I guess.”

“Yeah, that was real convincing.” Brett scoffs, but Trevor lets him tilt his head a little so he can take a look at his eyes - bloodshot, tired, droopy. “You look exhausted, kiddo.”

“Enough is, uh,” Trevor frowns, “What’s the word, uh… Enough is relative.”

“Relative to what?”

“I slept,” Trevor finally pushes his hand away, “Just… not a lot. You and James aren’t the only ones who want to get out of here, you know? I don’t like this place. It’s fuckin’ creepy.”

“Understandable.” Brett finally feels himself relax enough to smile a little. He’s still _angry_ , but not at Trevor and he doesn’t wanna take it out on him. “I’m gonna open this bad boy up and see what I can do. You go lay down in the back, if the hotel is so fucked up. You know the van is fine, aside from it being a piece of shit.”

He kicked the tire again, but not nearly as aggressively, and Trevor smiles a little, too.

“I’ll dig the tools out,” he offers and Brett gives him a couple pats on the arm in response and turns back to the van. Time to figure this shit out. He and Google are gonna fix this thing or die trying.

He lifts the hood after Trevor’s stretched all his long limbs out in the backseat, so tall that his feet hang just the tiniest bit out past the open door. It’s endearing, and Brett chuckles at it before he takes a look at the engine. He knows… very little, ultimately, about what exactly makes a van tick. He knows how to change the oil and rig up a jump start for a dead battery, and he knows what a lot of the belts do and he at the very least can refill the windshield wiper fluid. But that’s… that’s really about it.

It all looks like an engineering nightmare to his eyes, and he huffs, eyes searching, before he crawls into the front seat and turned the key in the ignition.

The starter turns over, at least, but the engine sputters a couple of times and then dies again, leaving him to sigh angrily and slip back out. Even if it _was_ the battery, it’s not like they have any particular way of getting a charge back. There are no other cars in sight that they could get a jump from. It makes him wonder about the workers in the hotel, if they just _live_ here; but then, they’ve only actually met the one.

He glances down at the toolkit Trevor had fetched from the trunk. It’s a basic one that he assumes come with most rentals. Jumper cables, a flare or two, a flashlight, reflective signs to put down on the ground at night. Nothing that can really _help,_ save for the shitty Swiss Army knife tucked in one of the pockets.

“Well, that’s great,” he mutters to himself, staring down at it and then closing it and shoving it into his own pocket for the time being. “At least if we get a fucking bottle of wine we can pop that open.”

He starts sifting around in the hood after making sure the keys are down by the toolkit, checks whatever he knows he has any kind of knowledge on. The oil’s fine when he checks it, and when he runs his fingers along the timing belt it seems okay, too. Nothing seems snapped or bent, no screws out of place. Unless it’s some kind of wacky shit like the catalytic converter, which he doesn’t really plan on checking because fuck only knows what he’s _supposed_ to check for that, everything seems like the van should be running fine. No leaks underneath, when he pokes his head down to check. No gas or brake fluid dripping down onto the pavement.

“Fuck,” he says quietly. He doesn’t know what he expected, and as he surfaces again he threads his fingers together at the crown of his head, leans back into that little hammock he’s made with his hands as he tries to keep calm. “Fucking _Christ._ ”

“Nothing?” Trevor asks, popping his head out of the side of the van, and he looks a little sleep-ruffled, like he managed to catch a wink or two and that, at least, makes Brett chill out for a second.

“No.” He picks up the jumper cables from the box, weighs them in his hand for a second, and then hurls it onto the ground with as much force as he can manage.

They make a dull thud, bounce a little, but don’t do much. Somehow, that feels like a perfect metaphor for his life right now.

Trevor clambers out of the van, stumbles a little when he manages to get both feet on the ground, and then comes around to the front to peer inside the engine. Trevor can’t even drive, let alone knows what’s wrong with the van, but he tries his best.

“It sure looks...like a van.” He finally exhales, a deep, tired sigh, “Maybe we should just start walking until someone stops to help.”

Brett’s shaking his head before he even registers the suggestion, “No. We can’t leave.”

“Why not?” Trevor frowns, glances back at the hotel, and Brett realizes what he’s said.

“I mean, we can’t leave the van. It’s got all our shit in it.”

“Oh,” Trevor frowns, rubs at his head, “Yeah, I guess.”

“Just...go lay back down.” Brett pats his back, his frustration still boiling under his skin, “I’ll figure it out. Or I won’t, and then I’ll just fucking deal with it.”

“You sure?”

“Trev,” Brett inhales, exhales slow, “I got it.”

“...Yeah, okay,” Trevor nods and then disappears back into the van.

Brett looks back at the engine, cracks his knuckles and then pulls out his phone to start Googling - except nothing will fucking load. He’s got no service. Aleks has been goddamn browsing Reddit all goddamn day, but he can’t even get his browser to load the Chrome homepage.

It’s—Jesus, it’s fucking _stupid_ how suddenly helpless he feels without being able to even Google _something_ he can do to fix the fucking van. People twenty years ago didn’t have a search engine at the tips of their fingers so logically he should be able to figure something out, right? He looks back into the hood, stares at the engine and all the metal parts that mean absolutely nothing to him whatsoever.

It occurs to him, then; cars and vans come with a manual. There’s a triumphant little grin on his face as he sets his phone down and hurries over to the passenger side and starts fumbling through the glove compartment, tugs out the thin book from inside and starts flicking through it to try and find some kind of FAQ or service provider number or something.

He gets both, and starts reading through the FAQ first, but the smile slowly slips off his face to be replaced by a scowl as it starts outlining all the things he should do that he’s _done_ already. It ends with a polite little note that if none of the options appear to be showing any results, he should call the service number and have someone come out to take a look.

It’s frustrating. It’s overwhelmingly frustrating to feel so absolutely useless, stranded in the middle of nowhere, one boyfriend a ball of anxiety and the other one absolutely no help at all, with a broken van, a rapidly approaching schedule, and friends and coworkers who are just as baffled and upset as he is. The book flaps loudly as he chucks it towards the ground with another louder, angrier growl.

He doesn’t want to admit defeat, because he never _does,_ but. Fuck. He might have to here, and that pisses him off. Lindsey still can’t come to get them, they don’t have any service apparently, they probably couldn’t afford to call an Uber for such a long trip if they wanted to follow through with any of the videos that they have planned for the next month, and there’s absolutely no apparent solution that he can think of off the top of his head. They could use the hotel phone, perhaps, but they wouldn’t be able to do anything but maybe call a taxi, or the service provider for their van. That’s about all he can think of at this point.

It builds and boils and burbles and finally, with a loud yell, he slams his open palm directly into the side of the van.

Trevor lets out what sounds like a shriek from inside, bolting upright, hair a mess and eyes wide and terrified. Brett’s not expecting the van to buckle, nor is he expecting it to hurt so _fucking_ bad. But the metal caves in under his hand and then he’s jerking back with a loud, angry cry. His hand burns from the contact, and Trevor’s voice is shrill.

“Dude, what the fuck?!”

“Mother _fucker_!” He can’t help but snarl, pulling his arm closer to his chest in a protective curl. He takes a hard breath, tries to keep his shit together while he waits for the pain to _settle_. The van’s been baking in the sun for two days and it hasn’t been very hot out but they parked in the fucking sunniest spot in the lot somehow and the metal had _burnt_ something fierce. When he can finally look at it, he sees the burnt skin, just a light pink instead of the usual peach. Heat radiates from the skin, and it stings from the impact, his whole hand throbbing.

“Brett, seriously!” Trevor demands, sounding pissed, and Brett is fucking pissed too, but he manages not to snap something back at Trevor just to take it out on him.

“Don’t.” He says instead, straightens up and drops his arm so he can inspect the damage. He _could_ take responsibility, _or_ he could say that something had happened to the van in the middle of - as James had said - _Podunk, America_ because their providers had given them a piece of shit van. It’s a hand sized indent, the metal caved in something fierce, and he hadn’t thought he’d hit that hard but the proof was in the van, in this case.

“You just - Jesus, dude, is your hand okay?”

“It’s fine,” Brett waved him away, still glaring at the indent. He wanted to make it _bigger_. Fuck, if the van wasn’t gonna work, he might as well give it a fucking _reason_ to not work. He was sure, suddenly and with conviction, that if Trevor hadn’t been there, he would have just pulled something out of the van and beaten the whole damn thing to shit just to - get this _anger_ out. He wanted a punching bag, or a ring to fight in, he’d settle for some goddamn _weights_. Just something he could hit or push against, something _physical_ that would help him.

Instead, he’s got this goddamn van.

“We can’t do anything about the van,” Trevor finally lets the subject go, but he sounds shaken, and Brett looks at him again and narrows his eyes. He looks scared, but more in a general way than scared of _Brett_ , and that’s...relieving. “We can’t do anything about it, it’s broken. We just have to wait. Lindsey’ll come eventually. Fuck, if she doesn’t, then we can call Geoff or something. That Michael guy was cool, right? The van’s a fucked cause, so let’s just - go inside.”

“Fine.” Brett says through his teeth, close to vibrating with anger, but he lets Trevor slam the door shut and start walking away. He follows, mind a mess of just wanting to _hit something_ , but it isn’t until they’re almost back to the door that he remembers his phone.

“ _Fucking Christ_ , for _real_ ,” He shoves his face into his hands again, drags his palms down his cheeks until he feels like his eyes are going to pop, more gentle with his burned palm than the other, “I forgot my phone. Go back in, okay? I’ll fuckin’ - I’ll be in in a minute.”

“Sure,” Trevor agrees, but he frowns. Brett doesn’t push it, just turns around to march his way back to the van, like he doesn’t want it to think he’s crawling back to beg or something.

He’d left his phone on the side of the hood in his search for the manual and it was still there when he gets back so he pockets the _useless piece of shit_ and feels calm enough to actually close the hood and pack the toolkit back up and put it back in the trunk. He turns to inspect the indent one more time, just to get a feel for the damage with a clearer mind, and goes still.

It’s gone.

“Um,” he says out loud, feels a little crazy. He looks down at his hand, still burning and throbbing, and then back at the smooth metal of the van’s side. He presses his hand to it, but it’s - no, it’s gone. It’s not - there. Okay. Jesus.

“Trevor,” He calls over his shoulder, scared to take his eyes off the van, wonders if he’s fucking turning into James, “Trevor, come here right fucking now.”

“What, dude?” Trevor calls back, irritated, but he sounds like he’s coming closer until he’s at Brett’s side again. “ _What_? Dude, I’m _hungry_.”

“The - where I hit it, it’s _gone_.”

Brett finally looks at Trevor, wide-eyed, but Trevor’s just furrowed his brows at him, annoyance plain on his face.

“What are you _talking_ about?”

“The _place where I hit the van_ , Trevor! It’s - the dent is gone!”

“What dent?” Trevor glances between Brett and the metal, “There wasn’t an dent, man, you hit it hard but not _that_ hard.”

Brett stares at him, anxiety pooling thick in the pit of his stomach. Trevor can be an asshole sometimes, but that’s more for the camera, and he wouldn’t lie about something that’s so clearly causing Brett this kind of grief. He’s genuinely just telling Brett how he sees it, not trying to fuck with him or give him a scare. He’s just annoyed, it looks like.

Somehow, that’s even worse.

“There was,” Brett says, looks back at the van. “Trev, I’m telling you, there was a, there was an indent, it was _right fucking there._ ”

“Well, I mean. It’s not there now.” Trevor scratches at his beard, shrugs his shoulders. “So maybe you just imagined it. I dunno, sounded hard when you _scared the shit out of me,_ ” and here he looks a bit accusing, “but I never saw a dent.”

Brett swallows, squeezes his eyes shut tight to take a deep and calming breath, has his hands out like he’s going to push away whatever the _fuck_ is happening right now and just… figure it out some other time. Maybe he didn’t actually hit it that hard, and the dent was just a figment of his imagination. Or maybe it had bounced back while they weren’t looking, some kind of… of new metal they’re using in cars. Something like that. There’s a logical explanation for it, and it’s not that he’s starting to lose his marbles.

“Okay, I - never mind,” he says, scrubs at his face, at his own beard, drops his hands down to his sides. “You’re right. I’m just wigging out right now. I don’t know.”

There must be something in his tone that’s still off, because Trevor softens a little bit.

“I think we’re all wigging out, dude,” he says, and nods his head towards the hotel again. “C’mon, let’s get some fucking breakfast. I’m hungry.”

“Yeah.” Brett glances at the van one more time, almost runs the tips of his fingers down the spot he knows he hit. His hand is still tingling with pain, still pink where the sunbaked metal had seared the skin. “Yeah, shit, let’s just. Get back inside.”

-

“I don’t wanna go upstairs, man,” Joe says quietly, picking at his bacon and eggs. James swallows hard, the biscuit he’d been chewing thick in his throat and then points at the food threateningly until Joe takes a big forkful, too.

“Just for some static shots, dude,” James promises, “Get a look around, get it on camera, we’ll show it as like, extra footage or something, it can be its own video and we’ll voice-over spooky shit.”

“Isn’t this place spooky enough as it is?” Joe complains, and then takes another bite when James points at the eggs on his plate again.

“We need the production value,” James says pointedly, as if that were an actual thing they had to worry about. Joe’s chewing like he’d much rather be doing anything else, but he’s still eating so James is going to count this one as a win. “Come on, really. It’s just gonna be a couple spooky shots, maybe we’ll do some weird commentary. Make it like an episode of Ghost Adventures or something.”

His mind drifts, a bit unwillingly, to what Brett would do with the Patreon if he were with them. _Afternoon, Milk Club, today we’re going on a spooky adventure the likes of which we’ve never gone on before._ It makes him frown unhappily, and he gnaws off another mouthful of his biscuit a bit more aggressively than he might have before.

“Stop talking about ghosts,” Joe says, pokes at his food with his fork again. James wants to chastise him for it. “There aren’t any ghosts here or anything, now you’re just trying to freak me out.”

“Sorry,” James says, very much not, “Don’t think of it as spooky, then, think of it as a historical video or something, I dunno. It’s a...cool place.”

“It’s fucked up,” Joe mumbles around his fork, and James has to agree, but he still pinches his brows together until Joe gave in with a sigh.

“ _Fine_ ,” He takes a careful sip of his water bottle, “I’ll fuckin’ go upstairs and take static shots, but we’re only gonna be up there for like ten minutes and then I’m out.”

“I’d say I’d set an alarm,” James glances at his phone, betrayed, “But it wouldn’t help. _Apparently_ , fucking twenty minutes in your room is a whole night outside of it. Time works wrong here.”

“Not,” Joe glares at him, “ _Helping_ , James.”

James tries to go for a winning smile and falls a bit short. Joe’s still nibbling away at his food, and it’s starting to look pretty likely that he’s not going to eat much more than that. There’s still no sign of Brett and Trevor, nor of Aleks, so when James deems them done with their food, they bring their plates over to the empty table again, where they had set them last time.

It still seems strange to James that there aren’t any other people around; no other dirty dishes, no other chattering pairs going on about their day, complaining about creepy hotels and stubborn, irritable boyfriends. It’s unsettling, and makes James’ skin prickle if he thinks too hard about it.

They make a quick pit stop to Joe’s room to grab the camera, and even by the way that Joe hooks the strap around his neck, it’s clear that he’s uncomfortable with the state of things.

“Ten minutes,” James promises, and Joe checks the focus on the camera, clearly tries not to glare at him.

They make their way back towards the lobby, but once they get to the stairs it’s stops them in their tracks. As early as it is, James would assume that the place would be lit naturally from the sunlight outside, but as they stare up the wide front staircase, he can’t see… anything, really. At the very top step the hallway gives way to darkness, and he can’t help but swallow a little nervously.

Just a couple money shots, like they did outside, and then they can go back downstairs and fuck around with something else. At least doing this, they’re getting their job in. Joe’s still looking a little unnerved, and as he gazes up the stairwell, James can see the apprehension writ in every tense muscle.

“I fucking hate this already,” Joe says miserably, and James claps him on the shoulder.

“I do, too, buddy,” James admits, and then bravely takes the first step. If he’s the one dragging Joe up these stairs, then he’s gonna lead the charge. There’s a little voice in the back of his mind that tells him that he’s always leading the charge, that he’s always going it alone and making the way for people, that he’s always got someone at his back but never at his side - except Aleks, but Aleks won’t even look at him unless he’s fighting with Brett, now. He knows it’s a stupid thought, _irrational_ , and that Joe - if no one else - has always stuck with him. He’d rather have Joe with him right now than either of his fucking boyfriends and that feels - wrong, to think. Makes him feel guilty. But only one person had continuously been at his side this whole fucking hotel fiasco and it’s been Joe.

The first step creaks, has him freezing for half a second before he puts his full weight on it and continues. The next one is no less loud, and he resigns himself to alerting the whole damn building that they’re coming up.

He’s nearly half way up before he glances over, sees Joe filming him from the bottom, and shoots a thumbs up and a big grin at the camera. Maybe he’s shaking in his boots, but the kids won’t fuckin’ see that once Jakob has edited it.

He sees Joe zoom in, first at him and then a slow sweep up the stairs and he follows the camera, reaches the top and glances around swiftly before nodding.

“Looks safe to me!” He calls down to Joe, and then takes a longer look at his new surroundings.

It’s a wide hallway with a low ceiling and the same warm, dank color scheme as the downstairs. Dark wood walls, the same intricately patterned carpet, a long hallway with one door to the left and two on the right with a good chunk of space between them. At the end of the hall, he can just barely see the wall and the way the hallway seems to turn to the left into an open room.

Somehow, the air is heavy. The left door is open, but the right doors are both closed, with a little sign on the closest that says _Please Knock_.

“What kind of hotel is this?” Joe says from behind him and James nearly jumps a foot in the air, whirling around with his heart in his throat.

“Joe, Jesus!” He snaps and then, noticing the camera still on him, forces a relaxed smile, “Fuckin’ Christ, you scared me.”

“How many times have we all said that since we fuckin’ got here, man,” Joe grumbles, obviously not willing to put on any kind of persona for this. Static shots only, then.

“Ten minutes,” James reminds him, a promise, and shows his phone. They’ve got nine minutes left.

Joe makes a face at him but keeps the camera steady, his usual cross-eyed look of concentration hard on his face as he stares firmly into the preview screen, keeps close enough to James that James can still feel him nearby. It’s a comfort and an aggravation all in one, but James shoves that down and instead tries to narrate as much as he can for the camera.

“So, we’re still stuck in this creepy-ass hotel, and me and Joe are gonna do some explorin’,” he says, tries to make it sound conspiratorial as he wiggles his eyebrows. “It looks like this place used to be a house instead of a hotel? Look, Joe,” and he points towards the doors. “Maybe we oughta go that way?” He tries for a smile, but Joe just looks up at him with a tight expression on his face before returning his eyes, once more, to the camera.

 _Okay,_ James thinks. _Looks like I’m on my own for this one._

He tries to play it up, tries to tiptoe awkwardly and look around with an exaggerated, birdlike twist of his head as they make their way down the hall, until they get to the nearest door - the one with the sign - and Joe can do a couple hard zooms in on the handle, on James’ face as he stares wide-eyed into the camera. He wants to pretend that the nervousness is up for show, but he’d be lying.

“Should we try this one?” he asks, and Joe shakes the whole camera right to left, emulating himself shaking his head. It makes James laugh when he pictures how it’s going to look in the video, and that’s a moment where everything seems normal.

A second later a hand comes down on his shoulder and he _screeches._

“Are you boys enjoying your stay?”

Joe’s gulping huge mouthfuls of air as he presses a hand to his chest, and James has to literally lean against the wall with a hand and just _breathe._ The old man from the front desk smiles at them, looks just as fragile as he had that first night, and James has to shove down a bunch of very angry, very rude words to settle for a weak little smile instead.

“Great,” he says, and his voice is shaking. “Yeah, no, it’s, we’re having a great time.”

“Filming, I see,” The old man smiles and it looks as fragile as the rest of him, brittle, “I remember, back in my day, we didn’t even know what TV was! And now look, a little recorder, right there! I’ve only ever seen a few before.”

“A few cameras?” Joe finally speaks up, sounding a little odd, and the man nods slow, like his neck can only move so fast.

“Well, uh,” James glances at the camera, tries to give it a look like he and the audience are in on this together, hopes they can see how weirded out he is because it makes for good content, “Maybe you wanna join in the video we’re making?”

“Oh, me?” The man blinks, surprised, and James somehow feels played, “My, young man, my. If you’d like.”

“We,” James looks around, “We were just explorin’, so...got any good stories? Wanna give us the tour?”

“That,” The old man seems to brighten up a little, go from a black cloud of doom to a slightly less black cloud of doom, “I can do. I’ve been with this home for...quite a long time. Here, boys, follow me. I’ll show you the lounge.”

“What about that one,” James can’t help but point at the _Knock Please_ door, and the old man smiles a little bit wider. James hopes Joe is catching all of this.

“We’ll get to that, boys. In time. This home has a dark history, it’s best to start at the beginning.”

James throws the camera another look, this time one of what he hopes is interest instead of fright. The look that Joe returns is scrunched up and unhappy, and when they make eye contact he mouths _ten minutes_ in a way that lets James know that Joe is going to give him an earful whenever their impromptu tour is over. James just shrugs at him, unsure of what they should do, before following the old man as he starts to walk.

The man walks as slow as James had expected. He takes his time to lead them towards the “lounge,” with Joe trailing behind uncertainly the entire time. James has no doubt in Joe’s camera skills, but he just hopes that his fear isn’t getting the better of him. If they don’t come out of this whole fiasco without _something_ to show for it, he’s gonna be pissed.

“Back in the late 1800s, this hotel was in fact a house; it belonged to quite a rich man and his family,” the old man explains, hobbles along towards one of the rooms. “They had quite a lot of money, you see, from his various enterprises, and his family’s. Enough that they were able to hire on a handful of servants—though I suppose nowadays you would call them housekeepers,” he chuckles, almost as if to himself. James looks at the camera again, wide-eyed and goofy to hide his nervousness. “Here we are.”

He’s led them to the left side, the first open door. They both poke their head in at his prompting. It’s a nice room, all things considered, with comfortable looking armchairs, a big bookshelf that’s been pushed against the far wall. There’s a pool table on the other side, but while everything seems to be dusted and well-kept, nothing looks as if it’s been moved in a while. It seems suspended in time, and James exchanges another look with Joe.

“Wow,” he says, unsure, “that’s, uh, that’s real interesting, actually. Why’d they turn it into a hotel?”

“Oh,” the old man says mildly, with a bit of a smile on his face. “The family, you see, they had left the rights to the estate in the hands of their children, so when it came time for the courts to decide who should own the property, it was a bit of a, ah, a legal matter, I suppose. And the man who bought it turned it into a hotel.”

“Why?” James is confused, and intrigued despite himself. “Doesn’t it just go to the kids?”

“Well, it would be hard for the children to take over the estate,” the man says, and there’s still that slight smile on his face. “After all, the entire family was murdered in this very house.”

James feels Joe take an almighty step backwards, and whether it’s for dramatic effect for the video or because Joe’s ready to get the _fuck_ outta dodge, James isn’t sure. It’s probably the latter, but he doesn’t turn around.

“What the fu—what happened?” James says quickly, eyes wide.

“Tale as old as time,” the old man sighs, and James is ready to hear a Romeo and Juliet story when he continues with, “Greed.”

“Oh.” James says quietly, and follows when the old man continues on into the room. Joe won’t come in past the door, but the camera zooms enough that it doesn’t matter. He gets panning shots while the guy talks. They’ll only have camera audio at this point, they didn’t mic up for this, but James feels like every word is seared into his brain. He’ll sub most of the video once it’s edited.

“The family was rich, the butler poor. Math was done, and it came up negative in favor of the family,” The old man finally loses the smile, frowns thoughtfully instead, “He killed the children in this room. A teenage boy and his younger sister. Right on those arm chairs,” He points and James feels a shudder go through him. He’d been on like, haunted house tours before. But this feels different. Everything about this feels different.

“How did they die?” Joe asks from the doorway.

“Not kindly,” The old man says gently, touches careful shaking fingers to the arm of one of the arm chairs. “Tied down and beaten to death by a rather angry butler, I’m afraid.”

James took a careful step away from the armchairs. They were a navy blue, faded with such old age, but he felt like he could see what could have very well been bloodstains if he looked too hard and his stomach couldn’t handle that.

“That’s, uh,” James struggles for the words. “That’s… unfortunate. Sorry to hear that.”

He winces immediately, because it’s not exactly like it’s happened in recent memory, but the old man hums thoughtfully, as if considering the condolences.

“Thank you,” he says, and sounds as if he’s in another world. “He killed the dog in here as well. Or. He tried to, at least.”

James can feel his stomach drop, immediately thinks of Ein, and of Mishka. He could never stand the thought of dogs dying, always had to change the channel or mute the movie or cover his ears, and his eyes flick to the floor, to the carpet, before coming back up again. He’s now significantly freaked out, well and truly ready to be out of this fucking hotel, and from the way that Joe is still adamantly refusing to cross the threshold into the room, he can tell the feeling is mutual.

“Well, that’s, that’s nice,” James says, starts to back away. “Um. Is this, this is the only murder room, right? No other, uh, bloodbaths and betrayals?”

“Oh, no,” the old man says, almost chuckles. “No, no, the dark and sordid tale of this house hardly ends in one room, young man. Your friend doesn’t seem very interested.” That last part’s added as an afterthought, and James turns around.

“I’m super interested,” Joe says immediately. “I’m _way_ super interested, from over here, if that’s not a big deal.”

James tries to give him a look that says ‘it’s a big deal to me, asshole’ but the old man seems to take it in stride, looks around the room once as if deep in thought.

“It’s not for those with a weak stomach,” The man finally says, slowly turns to leave. Joe gets out of his way, trains the camera on him and then swings it back to James. Behind the lens, Joe mouths _ten minutes_ again, but James knows there is no way it’s gonna be less than the - he checks his phone - two minutes they’ve got left on the timeline.

 _Sorry_ , he mouths back, tries to look apologetic, and Joe glares harder. James gets himself out of the murder room, finds the man waiting for him with that brittle smile again.

“Next is the library,” he points down the hall and, with reluctance, James follows. After a hard moment, he hears Joe follow them. James owes him _so much_.

The hallway, logically, hasn’t got smaller while they were in the lounge. James _knows_ that. But it still feels like it. He feels like the walls are slowly creeping up on him, trapping him.

It’s almost a relief when the man finally hobbles to the end of the hall. James had been right, it did turn to the left and open into a big, square room lined from wall to wall to wall with ceiling-high bookshelves filled completely with books. There’s a fireplace and a big window with drapes the same burnt-orange of the carpets, thick and maybe satin, tied closed with golden ropes, in the middle of the back wall. The room’s been decorated with a long couch and two more armchairs, a table the same length as the couch and a worn, intricate rug atop the carpet and under all of the furniture.

“This is the library,” the man spoke up, making his feeble, shaky way to one of the chairs and patting it gently, “Here was where the master of the house’s brother-in-law was murdered. He was reading by the fire,” His voice fell, soft, motioned to the door in the corner which must have led to a bathroom, “When the butler came from behind and suffocated him with a wire. He drowned the master’s sister in boiling water downstairs, when it was still the guest floor, before renovations gave us what we have today.”

“Sounds… sounds like that butler wasn’t employee of the month,” James says after a bit of hesitation. He feels like every hair on his body is standing on end, and whether or not it’s from the strange chill or the creepy ass story that they’re being told, he’s not sure.

“I suppose we all have our limits,” the old man muses, but he gives James a bit of a side-eye that makes his spine go stock straight. There’s something inquisitive there, like he’s looking right through him, like there’s something about James that he just doesn’t quite understand. It makes his stomach turn over and he swallows, nods a little as if in agreement. “No, the butler was never very well-liked among the family. In fact, I’d say the only person in the house who could stomach him was the cook and his daughter. She was a maid here, you see.”

James looks over at Joe, but Joe just shakes his head, won’t say anything or unstick himself from James’ side.

“Did he kill her, too?” James asks, a sick curiosity building enough that he wants to ask the question. He can feel Joe glaring at him, but the old man just sighs deeply.

“Oh, no,” he says. “No, she wasn’t killed by her father. She fell ill, I’m told in part because she rarely slept. Busy schedules, you know. They say her death is what - pushed him over the edge, so to say.”

James keeps trying to think of the entire situation as a frame for a video, because otherwise he’s going to freak the hell out, but he can hear the gentle clicking of Joe’s hands as he shakes a bit, and it’s hard not to act like he wants to dive out the nearest window and head for the hills.

“Is that why he...killed the family?”

“I suppose,” The man shrugs, and James nearly reaches out to hold him together, terrified he’s going to crack apart. But, somehow, even despite possibly being made of tissue paper and...other soft, barely solid things, the man manages to stay together. He turns away from the chair with a deep sigh, something - exasperated and pained in equal measure. “This way, boys, just across the hall,”

“What’s just across the hall?” Joe speaks up, not quite able to mask the fear choking his throat. James turns around properly to look at him, frowning. He glances at his phone - they’re six minutes passed the ten he’d promised.

“The kitchen, young man,” their host laughs, gasping and low, “Just the kitchen.”

“Oh,” Joe relaxes a little, like he thought the man was going to say _Oh, the torture chamber_.

The man smiles, thin lipped and squinty eyed, and heads for the closed door across the hall.

James follows, stops at Joe’s side and presses a hand to his shoulder, “Hey. You don’t have to be up here anymore, okay? I promised ten, sorry we went over. I’ll finish up here with the tour and then meet you downstairs, okay?”

“I’m not leaving you up here alone,” Joe frowns at him, tightening his hands on the camera, “I’m fine.”

“Joe -”

“I’m not leaving you.” Joe repeats, firm, and James feels something warm and fond blooming in his chest. He tries to keep the smile off his face, but he obviously fails because Joe starts to smile back a little.

“If you want to go,” James decides on, speaking over Joe’s protests before he even starts, “Just give me the camera, okay? I’m not gonna get, like, pissed, if you go back downstairs. It’s creepy as hell up here.”

“It’s creepy as hell all over here.” Joe shrugs, and then nudges him, “Go be a personality so we can leave.”

James rolls his eyes, but he does what he’s told and lets go of Joe’s shoulder. He feels - better. A lot better than he did when they were coming up the stairs, maybe since they fucking got to this place. What the hell was he thinking, even? Behind him, beside him, whatever - Joe is _there_ , it didn’t matter where he stands in relation to James. Physical or metaphorical or whatever, Joe wouldn’t fucking leave him.

When he catches up to the old man - and, shit, they needed to ask his name at some point - he’s standing in the open door to the kitchens with a sour face. His mouth is twisted, thin brows down, a real fuckin’ scowl, and James stops a few feet from him.

“Uh,” he clears his throat, “You okay?”

“Fine,” The man clears his throat, smoothes his face out back into that kindly expression from before, not quite invested, but gentle, somehow. “Bad...Bad memories of this room. The kitchens, where the Lady of the house was killed. The cook died here, also,” He tacks onto the end, an afterthought. James tries to imagine thinking of someone’s death as an afterthought in a situation like this, standing in the room where the body fell, and can’t. He and Aleks - they have some morbid fuckin’ jokes but James can _feel_ the heaviness of the room, and it isn’t...it isn’t funny.

It looks old, the kitchen. Wooden cabinets and smooth wood counter tops, an old-timey stove-oven and an ice box. Nothing looked updated, but it was all clean.

“Is this where the food is still made?” Joe asks from behind him, and James feels him stop at his side, camera still trained on the old man.

“No,” The man said, and then didn’t continue.

“Uh,” Joe says after a brief moment of quiet, “Okay.”

“How’d the Lady and cook die?” James decides to step forward, take the plunge and walk in. It’s _oppressive_. There’s no window, just the wooden walls and the steel oven with black piping that disappears into the low ceiling. There’s a small door tucked behind it, too close for comfort, and James heads towards it with some trepidation. He stops at the counter, before he can get too close. It makes his spine tingle, all of his instincts flaring up, telling him to stop. Saliva fills the back of his mouth, makes his tongue itch.

He doesn’t try to get any closer, but he points, keeping his arm close to his body, “What’s the door to?”

“Servants quarters,” The old man joins him, Joe staying by the door to take panning shots of the room. He doesn’t look like he’s paying attention, and it makes James nervous. He wants Joe to watch him, watch his back. He doesn’t know why, but this room - it’s the worst, so far. Like he shouldn’t be here.

“The Lady of the house and the cook were both poisoned. The Master was...rather worried about servants stealing, so he left poisoned bread out and the cook, well. Stole. As for the Lady...well, she enjoyed a nice cup of tea by the stove when she was feeling ill. The butler poisoned the brew before serving it. She asphyxiated on the floor, in front of that door.”

“Cool,” James takes a careful step back, away from the door and the murder spot, “Well. Not cool, sorry. The opposite of cool. Jesus Christ.”

He really...he really does not want to be in this room.

Every part of him is screaming at him to turn around and run, tail between his legs, to take the stairs three at a time and find their own room and lock himself inside. He wants to bury under the covers with Aleks and with Brett, no matter how mad he might be at the pair of them, because from the very depths of him he knows this room is _wrong._

Joe doesn’t move from where he’s standing at the door, and when James turns to look at him again he can see that Joe’s zooming in on the floor, mouth a thin line, face white with fear before he brings the camera up again to James’ face.

“You okay?” he asks, nervous, and Joe shakes his head.

“I’m… not feeling great, man,” he confesses quietly, and looks around as if he’s half expecting one of the servants themselves to jump out and attack him. “Like, I feel sick. Maybe I ate something, you know?”

“You barely fuckin’ ate anything,” James mumbles under his breath, but gratefully half-jogs back over to Joe’s side. Now that he’s close enough he can see that Joe’s trembling a little, head to foot, and whatever’s got James as unsettled to be in this room seems to be amplified for poor Joe. “You think we can, uh, cut the tour short a little bit?”

Again, the old man has an odd look on his face, gazing down at Joe for a moment as if he’s uncertain of quite what he wants to do with him. Joe’s practically hiding under the brim of his hat, staring very resolutely into the preview screen on the camera, and the old man finally sighs.

“There’s only one room left,” the old man says, and points towards the last door. “The master’s bedroom, where he and the butler had their final show.”

“That’s nice and all,” James says, tries to be a bit more firm about it, “but, uh, Joe’s really not feeling too good and we can definitely, um, we’ll come back some other time and finish it off?”

“No respect for history these days, I suppose,” he says, in his crickety old voice, but there’s something underneath it that James can’t quite place. “Run along. If you’re still interested, these old rooms will still be here. But,” and here he almost smiles. “Be careful not to roam too far.”

That sends a shiver right up James’ spine, and he can hear the click of Joe’s throat as he swallows hard. James wraps his hand up in Joe’s hoodie then, nods as politely as he can as he starts to back away.

“Don’t roam, got it,” James agrees, “Thanks for the tour, man, we’ll be back for the rest later today, maybe. Maybe once Joe feels better.”

“Today?” The man checks his watch, “My, it’s rather late. Perhaps tomorrow.”

“Sure,” James agrees again, and then spins and herds Joe toward the stairs while the old man disappears back into the kitchen and quietly shuts the door.

“That was -”

“Creepy, yeah,” Joe takes the camera off from around his neck, hands it to James, and then curls over himself, hands on his knees, and gags.

“Dude, not on the carpet,” James rubs his back, “We don’t have the money to replace that,”

“Fuck off,” Joe groans, sounding pained, but does stand back up slowly. He looks miserable, pale and green at the same time, eyes watery.

“Damn, dude,” James glances around, takes in the lack of light and the dim candles the only thing brightening up the place, no sunlight creeping in. He remembers what the man had said about coming back later, like it was too late in the day. “Oh, come on, not again.”

He checks his phone. The battery, fucking full when he’d left Joe’s room maybe an hour ago, was nearly gone.

Yep.

“It’s almost ten,” He grits through his teeth. “At night.”

Joe gives him a look of shock, goes up on his toes to glance at James’ phone before searching his pockets for his own. As soon as he finds it, James watches him press the home button three or four times before groaning in frustration.

“Mine’s dead,” he says miserably, shoves it back into his pocket. The look on his face is one of pure desolation. “James, dude, I don’t fucking like it here, when are we getting out?”

“Ask Brett,” James says a little sourly. “Since he’s the one who’s supposed to be taking care of that shit, supposedly.” Still, he knows it’s not fair to rag on Brett when he’s not even around, even if the two of them have been really getting into it the last couple of days, so he sighs and rubs at the back of his head. “Let’s just… let’s just get back to our rooms. Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Joe still doesn’t look very convinced, but he follows James as they make their way back towards the front staircase. It’s easier to find them then before, which is a relief. It doesn’t occur to James until they’re nearing the lobby that Joe had been acting odd back in the room, and that he wanted to address it.

“Hey, so, what was up with you before?”

Joe looks at him oddly, one of his nervous grins on his face.

“You mean, like, besides the creepy old guy and the paralyzing fear?”

James rolls his eyes, nudges him.

“You were filming the floor, dude. Not very good production value, you know? Not even sweetass beatboxing is gonna make the _floor_ look good.”

Joe’s quiet as they head towards their rooms, but then he speaks quietly.

“I thought I saw something,” he says, and shrugs. There’s a tremor in his voice. “I don’t know. It was creeping me out and I swear, I _swear_ I saw something but when I zoomed in…” He shrugs again, looks ill. “I don’t like it up there, man. I don’t like _anything_ about this place.”

“Yeah. Join the club.” James tries not to sound unkind. “Let’s just… let’s just forget about that for the night and try to sleep.”

“Sleep,” Joe scoffs, but he leans heavy against James’ side as they turn the corner in the lobby and head down the hall to their room. It’s...it’s a long walk, as always. James is almost getting used to it, the feeling that it’s gonna take ten years to reach his room, and he’s right. They pass 08 after what feels like forever, only to end up in front of 16 and 18 in what feels like three steps.

He almost says _so this place is haunted, right_?, almost, but stops himself from the joke before he actually voices it. The last thing Joe needs is for someone to put it in his head that they have _spirits_ to worry about. This isn’t Buzzfeed Unsolved.

“Just get some rest.” James waits for him to unlock his door and step inside after a careful look around from the doorway. “Sleep. Eat some Slim Jims, I know we packed some. We’ll figure something out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Joe shifts awkwardly in the doorway and then starts to close the door. He stops, just wide enough for James to see one wide, dark eye. “Be careful, James.”

“Don’t worry,” James opens his arms up, tries to put on a brave face, “No hotel is gonna put me in the grave or whatever.”

Joe’s undoubtedly used to some of James’ more morbid jokes, given how long they’ve known each other, but instead of getting a laugh Joe frowns instead. He looks incredibly unhappy with the joke, but all he says is, “yeah. You’re right.”

Nonplussed, James opens his mouth to try and apologize but Joe shuts the door with a click, and James is left alone in the hallway wondering what the fuck he said. Joe’s never… really been _mad_ at him before, he’s been irritated or upset with the shenanigans they get up to on the channel but that seemed for just one moment like Joe was genuinely _mad_ at James for making such a stupid joke.

“Fuck,” James says out loud, raises his hands to hold the back of his neck a bit. He’s fucking up left and right apparently. The weight of it hurts in the pit of his stomach. Now he just has to go back to their hotel room and face Brett. Shit, he’d sort of rather face the creepy rooms upstairs and go through another murder tour before having to do that.

He just has to take a deep breath and face it. Throw on his pajamas and crawl into bed and ignore Brett and hope to fucking God that Lindsey decides she’s going to try and pick them up in the morning this time around. He’s not sure how much more of this he can fucking take.

Still, his heart’s pounding in his chest when he unlocks their door and slips inside, closing it nervously behind himself. Aleks is stretched out on his stomach, hugging the pillow to his face and speaking in too low a voice for him to hear; Brett’s perched on the edge with his back to James, listening, but they both look over when James clears his throat a little awkwardly. Instantly, a cloud settles over Brett’s expression.

“Uh,” James says quietly. “Hey.”

“You took a fuck of a long time, dude,” Aleks says, like he can’t feel the tension in the air. “Were you filming an entire movie or something?”

James shrugs.

“Lost track of time, I guess.”

“Seem to be doin’ that a lot lately,” Brett frowns, and James does his best to not look guilty. It wasn’t his fault that time fuckin’ - passed differently. There’s no way he and Joe were gone _that long_ , he has no idea what happened, but honestly he’s not gonna push it. Whatever, maybe they just fucked around a lot longer than they thought they had.

“You didn’t call me, so,” James shrugs, leans his back against the door, “Must not have needed me.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Brett’s face pinches, like James has said something that’s pissed him off but he isn’t quite sure what it is, and then he looks away, back down at his hands. He’s clutching one close, flexing it slow, and even from the doorway James can see that something’s off with it.

“Is your hand okay?”

“What?” Brett loses the pinched look, glances at James and then at his hand, stops rubbing it, “Oh, uh. I...banged it on the van. Trev and I couldn’t fix it.”

Ah. The van. It seems like every time they bring up leaving, it sparks some sort of fight, and James has heard enough murder and upset enough people today to decide that he isn’t really excited about going at it with Brett again. It’s still an irritating, suffocating feeling that they can’t _leave_ and he _wants to go_ , but - it isn’t Brett’s fault. Or, at least, most of it isn’t.

“Want me to look at it?” James offers, soft.

Part of him’s afraid that Brett’s going to tell him to fuck off, but there’s a second or two of silence before Brett shrugs his shoulders.

“Yeah. If you want.” The words are casual enough, but Brett’s voice has taken on that quiet undertone that gives off the impression that he’s sick of the fighting too. “It’s not that bad.”

Still, it’s an olive branch if James has ever seen one, so he crosses the room in several long, uncertain strides and takes a seat on the mattress next to him. Aleks watches interestedly from where he’s still laying down, but James can already tell that he’s started to doze off; his eyes are drooping a bit, but there’s a pleased smile on his face at the sight of James and Brett attempting to reconcile.

They sit there for a moment before Brett sniffs and holds his hand out towards James, who takes it gingerly. He’s right, it doesn’t look so bad, but some of the skin is shiny and white, stretched almost taut along the flat of his palm. It looks like a burn, almost, and James runs a feather-light finger over it, notices when the muscles jump sharply in Brett’s arm.

“You banged it off the van?” he says, a little surprised.

Brett grunts.

“Yeah.”

“...looks like it hurt,” James says, an acquiescence. Brett’s not quite looking at him, but he sees how his eyes flick over, lashes long and pretty where they’re half-lidded from an exhausting day.

“...it wasn’t so bad. Doesn’t hurt much right now, anyway,” he says, shrugs a bit. His fingers are curled loosely in James’ hands, and James lets it rest on his lap. Brett doesn’t fight the motion, but lets out a sigh instead, like he’s content for the moment to bask in quiet and soft, gentle touches.

“I’m sorry,” James says, wants to make things right as he plays idly with Brett’s fingers, tries not to do anything that could hurt. “Jeez, I don’t know, man. I just - I feel fuckin’ tense all the time but I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.”

Brett scoffs, but it’s not mean or cruel.

“Yeah,” he agrees, looks away towards where Aleks has finally shut his eyes, is breathing evenly and steadily into the pillow under his face. “I think we’ve both been assholes. I’ll cop to it.”

“It’s just -” James starts, and then doesn’t know how to continue. It’s just - a lot of things. The hotel, that Brett has been talking about him to Lindsey, that he’s upset Joe, that they’re going to miss this con and it’s going to cut into their pay again. It’s a lot. But it isn’t Brett’s fault, not all of it, and James has been...well. He’s been James.

“I know I’m...difficult.” He looks down at Brett’s hand, uses his thumbs to spread his fingers out, rubs along the callouses there. It’s intimate, somehow, the three of them on the bed together, talking quietly. He suddenly misses them both so fiercely that it almost hurts. “I know. But...you’re good. Both of you. And I, you know,” he clears his throat a little, “I love you.”

Brett, after a second, uses his other hand to tilt James’ face up with a light grip on his chin so he can lean forward and kiss him. It’s soft, a brush, and then a second kiss that James gladly accepts. He feels like he hasn’t been touched in days, and he realizes that he hadn’t even touched Brett at all today. Just those brief kisses with Aleks that morning, and angry arguing with Brett and nothing else. That thought makes his stomach itch after all the talk of murder and pain in this fucking place, and he leans into the kisses easily.

“You know I love you, too,” Brett knocks their foreheads together, smiles small and quiet between them, “Even when we’re fighting, James.”

“I know,” James swallows, and he knows his voice cracks but it’s not like he can do anything about it. He just feels - hollow. Cold in his chest, like he’s all alone, even now. He just - he likes this. Brett like this, soft and gentle and kind and looking at him with that sweet look in his eye. He wants more of this. So he brings Brett’s hand to his face, presses his lips to his fingers. “I’m gonna make it up to you.”

Brett grins a little, amused, “Make what up to me?”

“All the stupid fighting,” James decides, a little more firm in his decision. “You guys helped me out that first night. It’s your turn,” he glances over his shoulder at Aleks, still dozing pleasantly, “Even if _someone_ has fuckin’ mono or something. Has he been sleeping all day?”

“I think so,” Brett reaches out, presses the back of his hand to Aleks’ forehead and Aleks shifts into the touch but doesn’t stir, still sleeping soundly. “He doesn’t feel warm.”

“Then he’s just being lazy,” James decides and sets Brett’s hand down so he can drop to his knees in between Brett’s legs.

“James -”

“No, seriously,” James looks up at him, grins at the look on Brett’s face, finally feels just a little bit warm because _he_ put that look there. “Just...uh, stay quiet. Wouldn’t want to wake him up, would we?”

Brett's mouth thins a little, but it's quickly replaced by a soft exhale when James nuzzles at the inside of his thigh with a bit of a grin. He knows what gets Brett going and what turns him on and that's definitely one of his prime moves; Brett's hands stutter once, briefly, before he runs the very tips of his fingers along the top of his head. It's a gentle, tender touch that says as much as their conversation had.

James presses up into the touch, enjoying comfort and affection, but when he goes to unbutton Brett's jeans he's stopped. There's a moment of fear where he thinks Brett's going to decline the offer; he's still mad at him, or worse, he's not attracted to James anymore after seeing all the worst sides of his personality, but Brett just chuckles quietly.

"Come up here," he says, and James' heart skips a beat. "Don't wanna hurt your shitty back."

Relief floods his veins like morphine and he straightens out, presses a grin to Brett's lips just to taste his smile. Fucking Brett. They've been dicks to each other and he's still looking out for him, even now. Brett hooks his fingers into the loops of James' jeans to bring him in close, and that moment of intimacy is so normal that James momentarily forgets where they are, what's happened.

He kisses Brett again, hands on his face and growls a little bit when Brett nips him playfully on the bottom lip, pulls him close again by his belt loops so that one big hand can drag forward, cup James between his legs.

"I thought," James says a little breathlessly, feeling arousal tingling at the base of his spine, "that I was making it up to you."

Brett hums into his mouth.

"We can make it up to each other," he says in a low voice, tinged with humor.

James leans against him, pressed chest to chest and starts to shove him down. Brett's about to get the best damn blowjob of his life, if James has anything to say about it. They topple onto the mattress together, barely missing Aleks' legs where he's still snoring away, and James readjusts until he's sitting on Brett's waist, shoving his shirt up to press kisses against his trembling stomach.

It's good to know that Brett wants this as much as he does. He leans up again, presses another longer, deeper kiss to Brett's lips and rolls his hips once. Brett groans softly, eyes fluttering shut, and James is about to smirk when there's a knock at the door.

James is set to ignore it. Fuck the old man, Trevor and Joe can...fend for themselves for twenty minutes. He just needs fucking twenty minutes alone with his boyfriend where they're not fighting.

"Someone's at the door," Brett sighs, but he hasn't opened his eyes and James takes the chance to press open mouthed kisses along his neck. He's careful of the dark marks, especially the areas that look sensitive, and trails his lips down to Brett's shoulder, presses his palm to Brett's core so he can feel the tremble.

"Fuck 'em," James says into his shoulder, moving back down to kiss just under where Brett's ribs end, "They can come back later."

Brett laughs, husky and soft, spreads his legs so James can settle between them, and James very happily does. He slides his hand down Brett's stomach back to the button of his pants and manages to get the button popped and the zipper down before there's another, softer knock on the door.

"James," Brett sighs, but it’s not the good sighing from before. This one is kind of annoyed, "Can we just...deal with whatever that is. I don't want to be...distracted."

"For real?" James whines, frowns up at Brett from between his legs and then groans and drops his head to rest against Brett's stomach at the look on Brett's face. No talking him into ignoring it then. "Fine. Fine. Don't get up. Don't move. I'll deal with it."

"No promises," Brett teases, and it's - irritating, that Brett wants him to deal with the fucking knocker instead of blow him, but at least Brett's mood hasn't been ruined. James'll just deal with what's going on and then he can get back to getting intimate. Maybe they'll wake Aleks up and he'll want to join in.

He gets off the bed, straightens his clothes out and doesn't bother trying to fix his hair. He hopes whoever's at the door sees the state of things and feeling horrible for ruining this. He's already on the edge of his patience as is. Brett watches him, stretched out with his shirt still rucked up and his pants undone, arms resting above his head and his legs spread, bare feet against the mattress and his hair a mess, his face kinda flushed and his lips kiss-red; He's a fucking picture that James doesn't want to stop looking at.

"Door, James." Brett reminds him when he's been standing, just looking, for a solid ten seconds.

"Yeah," James swallows, nods, "Yeah, fuck, okay.”

It’s a hard journey simply from the bed to the door, because he just wants to jump on Brett and say damn it all to the rest of the world. He still manages to get across the room and swing the door open with a bit more force than was probably necessary.

Trevor jumps back a little bit, startled by the sudden motion, and James nearly swears out loud.   `

“ _What_ , Trevor?”

Trevor doesn’t answer immediately, hugging a pillow to his chest; he’s already in his pajamas, those plaid pants he loves so much and a baggy shirt, and he looks so very much like an overgrown child scared of a thunderstorm that James almost feels bad about it. Almost. But then Trevor swallows, looking around like he’s not sure if he should even be standing there, and says quietly, “can I - can I stay with you guys tonight?”

James stares at him, dumbfounded.

“What the f- no, Trevor, what? Stay with Joe,” he says, shaking his head and moving to close the door.

“Joe won’t open the door,” Trevor says quickly, hugging the pillow tighter. “Dude, he won’t even answer it, like, he won’t say anything, I just - he’s probably asleep but I’m freaking out and I just - I can’t sleep.”

James runs a hand down his face, trying not to let his exasperation show.

“You can’t sleep,” he repeats, slowly, like he’s mulling it over, “and so you… came over to our room instead?”

Trevor shrugs, has the decency to look ashamed a bit.

“Yeah, I…” he trails off, bites his lip once and shuffles his feet a bit. “Look, dude, I’m already fucking embarrassed about it, and I’m sorry, I just… this place fucking freaks me out and I don’t really want to be alone tonight. I’m sorry.”

“Who is it?” Brett’s voice says from inside, and James sighs, talks over his own shoulder without really looking.

“It’s Trevor,” he says, and this time it sounds annoyed. He can’t even bring himself to feel bad about it. “He wants to sleep with us tonight.”

He can hear the bed squeaking a bit as Brett starts to shuffle around, even catches the sound of Aleks mumbling sleepily and angrily as he’s woken up, and that almost gets him to sigh again. Of course. Sure enough, Brett’s at his side after a couple of seconds, shirt pulled back down and pants buttoned up. God damn it, Trevor.

“What’s wrong?” he asks immediately, and James tries not to look pissed off.

“I’m just,” Trevor says, looks frustrated. “I’m freaking out, okay? Jesus. I can, I can go back to my room. I don’t want to cause a scene or whatever.”

“Go back -” Brett frowns, then gives James a _look_ , like it was somehow his fault that Trevor can’t fucking sleep, “No, hey, I told you to come over if you couldn’t, remember? It’s not a big deal.”

James presses his lips together. Not a big deal. They were kind of in the middle of something, there were _apologies_ and _feelings_ and _dick-sucking was gonna happen_. Now it wasn’t a big deal. Okay. Yeah, sure.

And Brett _told_ Trevor to come over? Did James or Aleks get a say in it? Brett couldn’t just - invite people to stay in their room like that, Trevor or otherwise. It was a shared room, there were _three_ of them, there was no way they were gonna fit a fourth person!

“Are you… sure?” Trevor looks between them, conflicted, and James tries as hard as he can to send out _NO_ vibes.

But Brett rolls his eyes and reaches into the hall, hooks a hand around Trevor’s arm and tugs him into the room. “Don’t be stupid. Yes, we’re sure.”

Trevor gives in with a heavy sigh, and he does sound kind of exhausted, and James would be feeling for him in any other situation. But he’d kind of been in the middle of fucking reconnecting with Brett and now Trevor is in the mix and James _loves_ Trevor but he’s kind of an attention-stealer when it came to Brett and James had wanted his attentions on _him_.

He meets Brett’s eye over Trevor’s shoulder, mouths _what the fuck?_ Because, honestly, what the fuck? Brett rolls his eyes at him this time, looking annoyed, and great. Okay, they’re back to that. Cool. Great. No blow job, no calm, right back to the being angry with each other _and_ they get a-fucking-nother person to sleep in the bed with.

James just takes a deep, calming breath.

It’s one night. He can handle one night. He follows after the both of them, knowing that his mouth is a hard line of annoyance, and starts digging around in his bag for his own pajamas. He can hear Brett saying something to Trevor, and Trevor’s quiet, unsure reply, but frankly he doesn’t give a fuck at the moment. Let them have their stupid conversation, let Aleks sleep the day away, he doesn’t _care._

Still, he does catch Brett’s question.

“How much have you slept since we got here?”

“I told you,” Trevor replies, and its tense. “Enough. I’ve slept enough.”

James stalks over to the bathroom after that, tries not to slam the door too hard behind himself. He’s angry. He’s angry again and he knows that he probably shouldn’t be, because Trevor’s been like his kid brother since the Creatures, but right now it’s all he can feel. So, what? They’ve all had sleepless nights, even if it hasn’t been in a weirdass hotel in the middle of nowhere. Trevor needs to grow the hell up instead of knocking on their door like he’s five years old and wants to share the bed with Mommy and Daddy.

By the time he’s back into the bedroom, Brett’s gotten dressed too, clearly didn’t have much of a problem doing it in front of Trevor. Whatever chance they had at intimacy is totally gone, and James throws his clothes back down onto his bag with tremendous force. He doesn’t even care if it makes Trevor feels bad. Fuck him.

“I can -” Trevor starts, like he can read his thoughts, but Brett just speaks over him.

“It’s fine,” he says firmly, but James knows it’s directed at him, too. “It’s just for a night.”

It’s clear that Trevor’s still unsure, but James huffs loudly, tries to reign himself in enough that his irritation doesn’t get the better of him.

“Can we go to sleep, please?” he says, and nope, his voice is still pitched high enough that he sounds furious. “It’s whatever. I’m tired.”

He can tell that Trevor still wants to protest, but a look from Brett gets both of them to clamp their mouths shut, and then everyone’s moving towards the bed. Aleks somehow slept through the entire altercation, but as soon as Trevor stretches out next to him he mutters and rolls over, immediately wraps his arms around Trevor’s waist to pull him closer.

“Oh, good, at least we know he’s alive,” James says sourly, and points in Trevor’s direction. “He’ll fuckin’ spoon you all night long if you let him, hope you don’t gotta use the bathroom or nothing.”

“I’m good,” Trevor says a little awkwardly, but he shifts to let Aleks settle up against his back more comfortably. Brett chuckles quietly, nods his head in James’ direction when he doesn’t immediately crawl up under the sheets, and James rolls his eyes before following the unspoken command. Brett turns off the lights and then they’re plunged into darkness.

“Thanks,” comes Trevor’s voice, small and hesitant, and the bed dips as Brett gets in behind James. Just as he predicted, the bed’s a little bit crowded, and James twitches away from the contact when Brett tries to put a hand on his waist. He can see Trevor’s eyes glittering in the moonlight coming in through the closed blinds.

“...don’t worry about it,” Brett says after a second, and it’s clear that he’s put off by James not wanting to touch. “Just go to sleep.”

“I’ll try.” Trevor sighs, sounding like he isn’t sure he’ll get any. He’d better get the best night’s sleep of his goddamn life. James has heard _don’t go to bed angry_ so many times in his life that it’s become something of a joke in his own head except it’s never funny, and it isn’t funny when it crosses his mind this time, either.

Part of him wants to turn around, press against Brett and just - let it go. Forget about it, so what if they didn’t have sex, he still got to see that look in Brett’s eye and kiss him and they had a whole conversation without biting each other’s heads off. It was good, for a few fucking minutes, and he just _wants_ that again.

But he’s cold, like before. His chest feels empty, hollow, and it hurts that Brett chose Trevor over him _again_. It’s always _someone else_. It’s happened so many times in his life that it’s starting to be a joke of its own, and he hates it.

He feels the careful distance between himself and Brett like it’s a chasm, bottomless and dark, and he just closes his eyes.

Whatever. It’s whatever. It’s always fucking whatever.

 


	4. Day 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> day 3....:(

Aleks has absolutely no recollection of falling asleep with Trevor. That’s definitely what he wakes up to, and he’s not necessarily upset about it, but it’s still kind of a shock to slowly open his eyes and get a faceful of thick brown hair and all six feet and four inches of him pressed up against Aleks’ chest.

He’s used to jetpacking as a general rule, since Brett’s entire upper body is huge and James, by contrast, is soft in all the right places, so he just sighs a bit and nuzzles into the nape of Trevor’s neck, enjoys the way that Trevor mumbles, “dude, stop” without really moving away.

“Tell me we didn’t do it,” he jokes, yawning hugely, and slowly sits up. Brett and James are still asleep, but there’s definitely a healthy distance between the two of them, and there’s a line between Brett’s eyebrows that definitely wasn’t there the day before. Aleks scratches at his hair and yawns again, looks around the room.

“What’re you doing in here anyway?” he asks, when Trevor doesn’t follow up with his joke.

Trevor shrugs, doesn’t turn out onto his back to talk to him. He just keeps laying on his side, one arm wrapped around his pillow, the other with a hand curled loosely near his face. Now that Aleks can get a proper look at him in the early morning light, he can tell that Trevor looks… sort of sickly pale, with bags so dark under his eyes that they look almost purple, like he’s been punched in the face.

“Yo,” Aleks says, shakes his shoulder a little bit. He feels like he ought to be concerned. “Trevor, what the fuck, dude? You okay?”

Trevor takes a deep breath, lets it out like an old dog on a hot summer’s day.

“I’m fine.”

Aleks frowns.

“You don’t look fine.”

Again, Trevor sighs, like he has to recharge for every word he speaks. He’s still not moving at all from where he’s curled up on the bed, and he blinks slowly, turns his face a little into the pillow like he’s trying to hide.

“I just… didn’t sleep good, that’s all,” he finally says.

“I’ve probably got some sleeping pills in the van,” Aleks offers, because it’s the first thing that comes to mind to say. He’s already ready to lay back down, drift back to sleep, but Trevor’s a tense ball against him and it’s hard to sleep with so much tension. He hadn’t been able to rest at all until James had finally come back to the room and Brett had stopped flipping his lid about it.

Speaking of.

“Are they still fighting? That’s not how I usually wake up to them.”

“I dunno,” Trevor shrugs a little, keeping his voice soft and low, and maybe it’s to avoid waking one of them up, but maybe it’s because being loud takes energy. Aleks knows what that’s like - everything takes so much energy now. He’s heavy, and he doesn’t want to move much. “Can I try those pills?”

“Yeah, man,” Aleks pats his hip, “In my suitcase in the van. You know.”

“Yeah,” Trevor hesitates and then slowly starts to sit up. Aleks can hear the way he creaks and cracks like an old man and he shifts so Trevor can get out from the cage the three of them have formed around him. He obviously tries to be careful, but the bed shifts under his weight as he climbs over Aleks and James’ face scrunches up unhappily. He rolls over, into Brett, and Brett’s eyes snap open like he’d only been dozing, arm automatically dropping over James’ waist before Aleks sees the way he tenses up.

“Trev?” Brett looks between them, “You get any rest?”

“A little,” Trevor says, and it’s such an obvious lie that Aleks doesn’t even call him out on it. “Aleks has some sleeping pills in the van that I’m gonna try.”

Brett frowns at that, but Trevor is gathering up his pillow and shuffling toward the door before he really has time to process that. He’s first to get up, but Aleks knows he usually needs at least twenty minutes before he’s coherent, let alone able to make arguments.

“Trevor,” Brett tries again, sitting up farther and that wakes up James, who makes a soft noise of distress and flutters his eyes open, looking around a bit in confusion. Trevor ignores him entirely though, and the door clicks shut as he’s back out into the hallway. It’s abrupt, and very unlike Trevor all things considered, but Aleks isn’t going to push it. Brett, on the other hand, seems like he’s about to follow after him, but then James inhales a bit too sharply and pushes away.

“What the fuck’s his problem,” Aleks says without really asking, and even he’s not sure whether he’s referring to Trevor or James. James, for his part, sits up and rubs at both of his eyes with the heels of his hands, and he sounds irritated.

“What the fuck,” he says, and Aleks finally sighs and sits up with the two of them. James lowers his hands, looks annoyed. “What the fuck, dude? I didn’t hear no alarm. Trevor’s just gonna crash in our fuckin’ room, wake us up, and then just fuckin’ leave?”

“Wow, two minutes awake and you’ve already got three new things to bitch about,” Brett says immediately, bristling. Aleks sighs again and flops back, covering his face with his hands. Jesus fucking Christ, here they go. It’s hardly worth the effort to intervene, and he’s sort of wishing he could just ignore it and go back to sleep.

“It’s fucking rude!” James says, and his voice is going shrill. “Quit climbing down my fucking throat every time I say something!”

Brett laughs, and it’s humorless.

“Wow, and we almost made headway last night with your _shitty attitude,_ too,” he says, sneering, and Aleks groans loudly.

“Can you two shut the fuck up,” he says, raising his voice, and they both go silent, staring at him. “Seriously. Holy fuck. I’m so sick of this shit, every goddamn day since we got here. Jesus Christ, why don’t you two just fuck or something and get this out of your systems?”

“Wow, what an idea,” James says, glaring at Brett, who just glares right back.

“Sorry I’m not a fuckin’ heartless asshole,” Brett retaliates, and yep, Aleks is checking the fuck out of this one. He rolls over, swings his legs onto the side of the bed, digs out some of his clothes from Brett’s bag while they start up again, and walks off towards the bathroom. It’s like they wake up and just dive into an argument as soon as they’re coherent, or even before that. They’ve never been like this before, never to this extent, never tearing each other’s throats out at the slightest provocation. It’s irritating, and he should probably be worried about it too.

He can still hear them arguing through the door while finishes getting dressed, rinses his face and brushes his teeth. It gets to the point where he has to raise his voice as soon as he’s out in the bedroom again, fed up.

“Seriously,” he says, and they both round on him instantly, trying to defend themselves.

“He’s just fuckin’ walkin’ out -” “How the fuck do you expect Trevor to get into the fucking _van_ without the _keys -_ ” “Just this one fuckin’ time maybe don’t go running to Trevor’s fucking rescue every time he needs to tie his shoes -”

“Holy shit,” Aleks says loudly, and walks over to the bed, tugs the Ouija board out from underneath and stalks off towards the door. “I’m literally not dealing with this. Have fun killing each other, I’m gonna find Joe.” He snatches the keys to the van off the dresser on his way out, waves them pointedly off his index finger. “And I’ll give these to Trevor,” he says, before either of them can protest more.

“Is that a Ouija board?” James asks, and then Aleks slams the door shut on them both. Maybe they’ll both just knock each other out and Aleks will get some goddamn _peace_.

He isn’t even angry, it’s just a bone-deep tiredness that no amount of sleep is putting a dent in and their arguing is just - irritating. Like gnats or something.

He clutches the board close to his chest, flips the keys so that he’s holding them in his fist, and heads for Joe and Trevor’s rooms. It’s a short trip, they’re only a few rooms away, but by the time he’s knocking on Trevor’s door, he’s resisting the urge to just lay down on the floor and take a nice nap.

He can hear Trevor on the other side of the door, the sounds of him getting dressed that pause long enough for him to open the door.

“Oh,” Trevor blinks at him, and it kind of reminds him of when Celia is comfortable and sleepy, except he doesn’t look anything like Celia nor does he look comfortable. “Hey. What’s up?”

“My boyfriends are being idiots, you forgot the keys to the van, let’s film a video.”

“In that order?” Trevor smiles, just a little, and Aleks thinks he should smile back so he does.

“In that order.” He agrees, and shows the keys. “Get dressed, grab your phone, I’ll get Joe. We can film some spooky shit and then take a fucking nap.”

“Can we nap first?” Trevor asks hopefully but deflates under Aleks’ frown. “Video first.”

“Great.” Aleks pockets the keys, turns toward Joe’s door and takes two strides to reach it and knock hard and loud.

There’s a crash from the inside of the room, something that _could_ have been concerning, and then he hears the squeak of kinda rusty hinges before he actually sees the door open _just enough_ to show Joe’s eye.

“Hey, man,” Aleks raises a hand in greeting.

“Hi.” Joe says quietly, tight. From the sliver of his face that Aleks can see, he also looks tired as shit. Maybe it’s a bug.

“Everything… okay in there?” Aleks asks, trying to get up onto his tiptoes to look inside, but Joe just shakes his head a bit frantically, covers whatever space he can with his shorter body.

“It’s good, it’s good,” he says quickly, “uh, what’s… what’s up?”

“Did you hear me knocking last night?” Trevor asks then, almost sour, almost accusing, but Joe only looks a bit confused and actually opens the door a little, sticks just his head out. He looks Trevor up and down for a second, like he’s scanning him, and then shakes his head.

“No, dude, I didn’t hear anything last night,” he says, and it’s still a bit shaky. “Is everything okay?”

“It’s fine,” Aleks says over Trevor, who looks like he was about to battle his exhaustion for a bit of an argument, and that’s the last thing Aleks wants to deal with. He’s had enough annoying arguments to last a lifetime. Trevor must get the hint in his tone, because he does back off, lets out another one of those deep sighs like every motion is a chore. Aleks can relate. “No, man, we were thinking about filming some stuff. Got nothing better to do until Lindsey finally shows up, you know?”

Joe makes a soft, unhappy noise at that.

“Do we really have to?” he asks. “I’ve sort of had enough of filming this place. We’ve pretty much covered everything at this point, you know?”

“I thought,” Aleks says, and holds up the Ouija board with what he hopes is a mischievous face, “we could have a little fun.”

Joe’s eyes immediately go wide.

“Oh, fuck that,” he says, and it’s almost harsh, or at least harsh enough given that it’s Joe, “Aleks, dude, you’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m fucking with that shit. That’s not your store brand kind either, is it?”

“Where the fuck did you even get that?” Trevor pipes up then, staring at it, and Aleks shrugs, tucks it back under his arm.

“It was in our room, under the bed,” he explains. “Dunno. Seems like it could be fun. You don’t _actually_ think this place is haunted, do you?” he adds, directing the question at Joe, who actually _scowls_ at him.

“Look,” Joe actually opens the door wider so he can step outside of the room after a brief glance in either direction, “Haunted, a weird Tardis fuckin’ thing, I dunno. All I _do_ know is that every time James and I are alone together, we - we disappear or something, go off the clock? If that’s haunted, then _yes_ , this place is fucking haunted.”

“Joe,” Aleks blinks, not quite sure how to handle that. “Ghosts don’t exist, and neither does fuckin’ time travel. You two probably just lost track of time. Look, we’ll go upstairs, fake a few ghosty bits, and then that’ll get the rest of the guys off our backs for a while.”

“I’m not going back upstairs.”

“Joe -”

“No, Aleks,” Joe snaps, actually angry enough to make Aleks and Trevor both take a step back, “James dragged me up there yesterday and we had a whole fuckin’ _tour_ instead of the ten minutes he promised. We would’a been up there longer if I hadn’t got sick or somethin’,”

“What’s upstairs?” Aleks asks, clutching the Ouija board tighter. “Was it cool?”

“ _No_ , it wasn’t cool!” Joe glares at him, “It’s a - people have _died_ here! It’s a bunch of rooms where people were _murdered_ by some crazy butler and then there’s some sort of sick museum we didn’t go into and -”

“We’re gonna go there.” Aleks interrupts, “Joe, that’s perfect,”

“What part of _no_ -”

“Joe,” Aleks hands the board to Trevor, who takes it reluctantly after some prompting, and then turns to Joe and carefully grabs his shoulders, squeezes comfortingly, “This place,” he says slowly, “is a hotel. It’s just a building. With walls and floors and carpets and shitty plumbing. People have died _everywhere_. There have been a lot of dying people in history. Let’s just film this shitty video, so my shitty co-owners will stop whining about video production, and then we can all go take naps on the shitty beds until our shitty friends come and pick us up. Okay?”

“But -”

“Or,” Aleks raises an eyebrow, “Do you want to stay down here alone?”

“Aleks, man,” Trevor says over his shoulder, sounding disapproving, but Joe’s face has gone paler than before and Aleks knows he has him.

“That’s so fucked up, man,” Joe says tightly, shrugging his hands off, “Fuckin’ _fine_. I’ll go upstairs. When we all get sucked into a time loop or whatever, I’m blaming you.”

And he doesn’t sound like he’s joking, but he turns around to go back into his room to get his shit. Aleks can feel Trevor glaring a little bit at the back of his head, but it doesn’t bother him all that much. Whatever, you know? Sometimes you have to take the low road to get what you want.

Joe’s only a couple of seconds, and they can hear rustling inside before he comes back out again, settling his hat on his head and still looking like he’s a bit angry as he hooks the camera strap along his neck. He also looks like he’s on the verge of throwing up, and Trevor, at least, has the good sense to offer up them going to breakfast real quick as a peace offering.

“No,” Joe says, though. “I’m not hungry.”

“We can eat after,” Aleks says, and while it sounds like he’s trying to settle, he really doesn’t care either way. They can eat now or later, but at the very least they can get some shit done for the channel. He wants to know more about this museum, and about whatever creepy shit James and Joe might’ve uncovered the day before. He highly doubts they’re going to fuck up the space-time continuum, and James has a nasty habit of over-exaggerating things, but at the very least they’ll be able to find _something_ interesting.

They’re halfway up the steps when Joe stops again, and his hands are shaking so hard that it’s audible where the camera is clicking against the metal hook of the strap. Aleks and Trevor both turn to look at him, and Joe takes a deep breath, shaking his head again.

“I’m fine,” he says tightly, but his body language says otherwise.

Aleks looks back towards the top of the stairs, eyebrows furrowed.

“What the fuck you freaking about already?” he asks, a little bit incredulous. “Dude, there’s nothing even there.”

“Aleks,” Trevor says, and this time he sounds irritated too. “Back the fuck off, man, we’re all freaking out a little bit, except for you, apparently.”

Aleks scoffs, gestures towards the top of the stairs.

“There’s nothing to fuckin’ freak out about, Trevor.”

“You’ve literally been in your bedroom and the dining room, you have no idea what’s here, okay?” Joe says tightly, “Where’s James?”

“Fighting with Brett, like usual, lately,” Aleks softens a little, if it’ll get Joe up the fucking stairs, “Should we call ‘em up?”

That, at least, gets Joe to chill a little. “No, uh. It’s fine. Just...as long as he’s with someone.”

“If we’re all quiet,” Aleks jokes, but it’s really not, “We can probably still hear the sounds of the two of them screaming.”

“Funny,” Trevor grumbles, “Let’s just get this over with.”

“My point, exactly,” Aleks turns back toward the top of the stairs and keeps going. He doesn’t stop to see if they’re following again - if he has to, he’ll just take a camera and go do some bits by himself until Brett and James have either tired themselves out or cleared the room, but he’s _trying_ to be fuckin’ - interactive, here. James bitched at him enough about being too solitary during their fucking stay, and Brett’s been up his ass about schedules and delays and content since before they even left for the damn con; he’s being a goddamn professional right now, unlike his cameramen, his co-host, and his fucking executive producer.

He reaches the top of the stairs, turns with his arms spread wide to showcase how much nothing is wrong at the top and ignores the twin glares he gets for it. When he turns back around to take in the upstairs, he isn’t impressed. A clean hall, a few closed doors, dim lights and the same ugly carpet and color scheme as the rest of the damn place. The only door that’s open is the one closest to him on the right, a _Please Knock_ sign nailed to the front but no one around to stop him from wandering closer.

“This the museum?” He asks over his shoulder, and Joe makes a noise that’s close enough to confirmation for Aleks to walk over and peek inside.

It’s a nice enough looking room; it has the air of something that’s been well-preserved over time, that sort of musty feel of a world stuck in the same year while everyone else moved on. Aleks pokes his head around a bit and takes in the sight of it. It’s not a particularly big room, large enough for a bedroom as far as he supposes bedrooms went in that time, with a big mattress near the middle and a bedside table with a couple of framed pictures on it. There are a few shelves as well, with books tucked neatly in, and if he went for that sort of thing Aleks might actually be interested in the history of it all. It’s pretty interesting.

“There’s nothing spooky in here,” he says after a moment of gazing around, looks over his shoulder at the two of them and jerks his head a bit. Neither Joe nor Trevor particularly like they want to follow, but they do anyway, sticking close as if there were something to be afraid of.

When they get inside, Aleks can see around the other side of the bed and he crouches down curiously, takes in one of the photos. It’s of a man, perhaps in his 30s. He couldn’t be much older than Brett, judging by his face, and at his side he has a stoic looking lady, and a dog sitting between them. He huffs out a bit of a laugh. There’s another, just a line up of three people and the same dog - an older man with a mustache and a kind smile, a teenage girl in a modest black dress, and a stoic, middle-aged man with his arm around her shoulders. The hotel is behind them, though it looks just slightly different.

“Unless you find creepy old photos spooky,” he says, straightening back up again. “Come on. Nothing to be scared of, unless you got, like, dust allergies or something.”

He’s expecting Trevor to capitalize on that statement, so he’s not at all surprised when Trevor coughs once as soon as they walk in and says immediately, “oh, dude, that’s me for sure.”

“Shut the fuck up, Trevor,” Aleks says easily, and studies some of the titles on the shelves. “This place is kind of cool, I guess.”

“Can we please just film this shit and get out of here?” Joe asks tensely, and Aleks can see him already fiddling with the camera, taking a couple of sweeping shots of the room. Amazing, that even when he’s scared out of his shit for no good reason, Joe still finds time to actually do his job.

“Yeah, yeah,” Aleks says, tugs the Ouija board out from under Trevor’s arm. “You know this shit doesn’t work anyway. It’s just gonna be us moving the fucking thing.”

"That’s what everyone says in the movies," Trevor mutters just loud enough for Aleks to hear, but he lets it go. This'll just be a fun ten minute bit, people will laugh, maybe YouTube won't think the spirits are ad unfriendly and demonetize the fuck out of them again, and Aleks can use it as proof that he's being a team player and pulling his weight.

He looks around for a second, then sits on the bed after a second of consideration. Museums usually make him feel guilty as fuck if he even sneezes wrong, but sitting on the bed feels natural. He bravely resists the urge to collapse into it and, instead, pats to either side of him dramatically so they can add in the slapping sound and sets the board in the middle of the bed.

Trevor makes a disagreeing noise, but settles on the very edge on the opposite side to Aleks and Joe settles in front of the bed with his camera pointed at them both and the board.

"You need someone to film," he says when Aleks nods at the board suggestively and Aleks has to give into that logical, at least.

"Just..." Joe shrugs, "Convene with the spirits or something. Trev's phone will pick up your audio."

"That works," Aleks unhooks the triangle thing from where it fit into the top of the board and sets it with the circle over the eye of the board. It's an ornate thing, old and dusty where Aleks hasn't brushed it off, with thick, dark cursive letters and a Yes and No at the bottom, along with the full set of first digit numbers. "Trev, finger the triangle with me."

"Gross, dude," Trevor says, but it's lacking its usual energy. Still, they both set the tips of their fingers to the triangle and Aleks glances at Joe's camera with a mischievous grin.

"So, we all know how this goes, right?" He says in his _video_ voice.

Trevor heaves a huge sigh, looks like he'd like nothing else better than to leave the room as fast as he can and get back to bed. But he still keeps his hand out, and mutters, "you've gotta ask it a bunch of questions, right?"  
"You gotta ask it _questions_ ," Aleks repeats, puts a lot of emphasis on the word. "What about you, Trev? Got any burning _questions_ you wanna ask? Maybe you can ask the ghosts out on a date," he adds, and wiggles his free fingers around like he's imitating a spooky ghost.  
"Shut the fuck up, dude," Trevor says, glaring at him, but Aleks can see that he's nervous, no matter what kind of act he tries to put on. His throat bobs for a second, and then he looks up at the ceiling, annoyed. "This is so fucking stupid."

"Fine," Aleks says, and purses his lips as if in thought. "Okay, I got a question. Are we alone in this room?"

He can hear Joe sucking in a sharp breath, and it'll probably be caught on the mic, but when there's no immediate answer Aleks takes things into his own hands. Very, very gently he pushes the triangle, tries to make it as ambiguous as possible. Trevor knows him better than that, though, and he makes a face at him as the triangle slides across the board towards the _no_ side of the board.

"Dude, you're destroying the integrity of this channel," Trevor complains, like that's all he has to worry about. "Fuckin' quit faking this shit."

"I'm not faking anything," Aleks says innocently, but rolls his eyes when Trevor gives him a nasty look. "Okay, okay, fine. Alright. Uh... okay. Are there any ghosts in this room?"  
Again, the triangle doesn't move. What had started out as a possibly fun idea is already going downhill, because Trevor's not into it and Joe's still on the edge of freaking out, and Aleks is already getting sort of bored. He should've known this shit wasn't going to work.

He's about to quit when Joe speaks up, quiet and shaky.

"Is there someone here with us?" he asks, nowhere near the triangle.

It moves.

He snatches his hands back at the same time Trevor does, turning an accusing look to Trevor only to be met with one in return.

"Aleks, dude, the _integrity_ -"

"Fuck you and fuck your integrity, I didn't do that -"

"Well, I didn't do it -"

"Guys!" Joe shouts, putting a stop to their sniping. "It's...it moved to yes."

"It did not," Aleks denies, staring at where the triangle had ended up - the circle over the _yes_.

"We...must have dragged it there."

"Haha, great video," Trevor fakes a laugh, "Let's go."

"No," Aleks sends him a glancing glare and puts his fingers back in place. "Come on, dude. It was just a...weird moment. Let's do this."

"Fuck you, man," Trevor groans loud, then drops his fingers back in place.

"Joe...ask another question."

"Me?" Joe audibly gulps, "But -"

"Joe, just ask another question,"

"Uh," Joe pauses for a few seconds, "So...so someone is here with us, okay...how many of you are there?"

The triangle doesn't move, and Aleks is about to smirk at Trevor, a _haha, showed you_ moment, but then he feels something - twitch under his fingers and the triangle slowly, heavily slides to the number three. Neither of them snatch their hands back this time, just...look at the triangle, then at each other, then at the camera.

"This is...so fucking funny, dude," Trevor fakes another laugh, "You got us. How'd you do it? Trick board?"

"This isn't me." Aleks denies again, lifting his fingers and flexing his hands a few times before he returns his touch to the wood of the triangle. "It must be...like, our brains fuckin' with us. Or something."

"Yeah," Trevor looks between them, ignoring the camera, "Yeah. Right, our brains. That whole - influencer shit, right."

"There are three of you," Joe said, a little quieter, when Aleks gives him another prompting look,

"Okay, um. Uh. Who - who are we talking to? Do you have a name?"

Aleks is expecting it to move this time, so he doesn't jump out of his skin, but. But his spine starts to tighten as the triangle moves, like it's being pushed and pulled except he can see that Trevor's fingers are fucking relaxed and shaking but he's barely touching the wood, and Aleks isn't fucking pushing the goddamn triangle.

"K," Trevor says out loud, following the triangle. "A...T...E..."

"Dude, I don't fucking like this," Joe says, and lowers the camera. That's a surefire way to signal that he's upset, that he wants no more part of any of this; but Aleks just flaps a hand at him, first to raise the camera again, then to ask another question. He feels like the hair on the back of his neck is standing up, and when he looks at Trevor he can see that he's gotten a little paler, staring down at the board with wide eyes.

"I'm not asking another question," Joe snaps, tense, "I don't know why the fuck it's only answering me but I'm not fucking playing this game, Aleks."

"Trevor," Aleks says then, "ask a question."

Trevor stares at him, stunned.

"Bitch? You ask the fucking question, I don't want shit to haunt me for the rest of my life!"

"Trevor," Aleks repeats, firm. "Ask the ghosts a fucking question."

Trevor's mouth is thin, the bags under his eyes even more vivid against how pale he's gotten. Aleks can count the freckles on his nose, stark like constellations across his skin. Maybe Aleks ought to be worried about that.

“Okay,” Trevor finally says through his teeth, swallows hard. “Uh. Okay. Um, Kate? That’s your name, right?”

They both look down at the board again, and just when Aleks thinks that Joe’s going to have to do all the talking it shifts, slowly slides back over to _yes._ Trevor’s eyes flicker closed for a second as he takes a deep, calming breath, looks up towards the ceiling with his gaze darting back and forth. He looks a bit freaked out.

“Dude,” he says, “I don’t like this, man. All my arm hair’s sticking up, look. This is fucked up, can we go?”

“Just ask another fucking question, Trevor.”

“I hate you,” Trevor hisses, looks at the board again and takes a deep, hard inhale before exhaling slowly. “O-okay, Kate, okay. Um. Are you - are you human? Or, were you?”

It’s still, like Aleks has come to expect, and then it moves away from the _yes_ just long enough to make Aleks actually start to freak out before it returns to it with a finality that he can feel in the way the triangle settles.

“Great,” Trevor breathes out, a big whoosh of air, his shoulders curving in even farther, “Okay. Wait, can ghosts lie?”

“This isn’t a ghost,” Aleks frowns at him, “It’s - that influencer thing, remember? We can’t lie to ourselves when we’re already convincing ourselves that we’re ghosts, right?”

“That doesn’t make any fucking sense,” Trevor takes his hands off the triangle to shake them out and rub his arms, “We’re _already_ lying to ourselves if we’re convincing our own brains that we aren’t the ghost, so why wouldn’t we take it a step farther and make it like we’re talking to a  - a demon or some shit,”

“What even is this conversation!?” Joe demands loudly, “Fuckin’ - ask your questions, say goodbye, and then we can leave! That’s what you said, Aleks!”

“Okay, okay, Jesus,” Aleks raises his hands in defeat, “We’ll do it simple, okay? One more question from each of us, right? Then we go.”

“You’re fucking serious?” Joe glares, “For real? No fuckin’ - no jokes. Three questions, we leave?”

“Three questions, we leave,” Aleks swears, “But no bullshit questions, or it doesn’t count!”

“Doesn’t _count_ ,” Trevor mutters, but doesn’t put up a fight when Aleks glares at him.

“Fine,” Joe clears his throat, “I’ll go first.” He lifts the camera again, zooms in on the board, “Were you one of the people who were killed by the butler, Kate?”

After a brief pause, the triangle moves to _no_ and goes still.

“What the fuck?” Trevor says instantly, turning full-body to stare at Joe with wide eyes. “What kind of question is that, Joe?”

“The butler killed a bunch of people, okay, I _told you_!” Joe snaps back, lowering the camera again. He looks mad, and more than a little freaked out. “So that means if she wasn’t killed by the fucking butler then maybe she just died naturally and there’s no, no murder going on or anything. You know?” He gestures at the board with his free hand, lifts the camera back up. “Okay, you go. I want the fuck out of here, man.”

Trevor stares at him for a second more, then slowly turns back to the board, chewing on his bottom lip. It’s clear he’s thinking, and Aleks stares at him pointedly until Trevor finally sighs, lightly touches his fingertips back to the triangle. His hands are shaking, just a little bit. Trevor usually takes the lighthearted route, or doesn’t believe all this weird, spooky, supernatural shit whenever they try to fuck with him, so it’s - odd, to see him so creeped out.

“Okay,” Trevor says, almost to himself. “Okay. Kate?”

There’s no response, probably because he hasn’t asked an actual question, but then Trevor swallows a little bit and blinks a couple times. Aleks watches his movements, his own hand still lightly touching the triangle too. He doesn’t feel anything.

“Kate?” he repeats, looks up again. “Uh. Okay. How did you die?”

Again, that odd feeling, and the triangle moves. Joe makes a soft sound from where he’s still standing. This time none of them spell it out loud, their eyes tracking the movements in unison. S-L-E-E-P.

“Sleep,” Trevor says, and he sounds confused. “What the fuck does that mean? She died in her sleep?”

“One question,” Joe says, terse.

“One question, shit,” Aleks sighs, “Our fuckin’ - our subconsciousness is _speaking_ to us, but you just wanna ask one question.”

“You _swore_ -”

“Okay, okay, one more question,” Aleks gives in, and then quiets down while he thinks. This is the first thing in days that’s made him feel anything other than tired or bored, and there’s a simmer of irritation under the layer of boredom that he doesn’t quite understand but isn’t gonna fight. Instead, he focuses on board.

“Okay, so you weren’t killed and you...died of sleep. In sleep. Whatever. Uh...were you killed?”

“She died in her sleep, Aleks,” Trevor frowns at him, “How would she be -”

Except the triangle drifts to _yes_ , and Trevor trails off.

“You were saying?” Aleks smirks, looking between the both of them, the camera, and the board. “So, she was killed. Maybe in her sleep?”

“This is bullshit, it doesn’t matter.” Joe says loudly, lowers the camera, “Your questions are up. It’s time to go.”

“But Joe,” Aleks starts to wheedle, “We just found such a cool thing to fuckin’ focus on while we’re here.”

“While we’re here - we’re leaving soon!” Joe argues, “Stop - stop acting like we’re spending a bunch more time here, we’re _not_ , James says -”

“We ain’t goin’ anywhere, anytime soon,” Aleks snorts, “Lindsey won’t fuckin’ pick us up, the Uber app won’t load on my phone or Brett’s phone, so I bet we don’t have any fuckin’ service around here. We’re stuck here until the con’s over and Lindsey can come back this way and we all know it.”

“Shut up,” Joe glares, “Don’t - curse us like that, dude, we’re getting out of here,”

“Sure, we are,” Aleks agrees, shrugging and leaning over the board a little, “But we’ll be here for a bit first. So why not learn a little more about Kate?”

“Who the fuck is Kate?” James says from the doorway and Aleks watches the way Trevor and Joe jump - Trevor jolts off the bed hard enough that the board is knocked around a little and the triangle slides off and onto the sheets while Joe nearly hits the fuckin’ roof.

“ _Dude!_ ” Trevor’s voice is shrill. “Dude, don’t fucking sneak up on us like that!”

“That is fucking Ouija board!” James says, ignoring him as he steps into the room, and his eyes are wide and incredulous. “Are we really doing that shit now? Seriously?”

“You got something better to do?” Aleks answers easily, shrugging his shoulders. James steps gingerly deeper into the room like he’s afraid of being burned as soon as he steps into the threshold. He’s looking at the board like it’s going to jump up on its own and attack him, eyebrows furrowed. “You can always let Joe go back downstairs and help us out.”

“You really need to work out your shit,” James says, pointing at him. “Dude, this is so not cool, at all.”

“It’s just a Ouija board,” Aleks says, shrugging his shoulders. He neglects to mention the weird tingling, or the fact that neither one of them were apparently controlling the triangle. Trevor doesn’t correct him. “You really think this shit is real?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore, when you’re doing this stupid shit,” James says, gesturing at the Ouija board, and the room in general. “I don’t even think we’re supposed to fucking _be_ in here, man!”

That’s probably true enough. It definitely does give off a sense of _Do Not Disturb,_ but nothing terrible’s happened, so he’s not too concerned about it. From next to him, Trevor’s gone oddly quiet, his expression tight and his spin stock straight. James inches into the room again, looking around like he has no idea what to do with himself. Aleks watches his movements almost curiously.

“Dude, I really don’t fucking like it in here,” James announces after a second, shaking his head and backing away. “No, fuck this. I’m out. I don’t like it in here.”

“It’s fine,” Aleks says, rolling his eyes. “Why are you all so freaked out by this fuckin’ room?”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Trevor says, frustration clear, “Like, it’s _just you_ , you’re the _only one_ not freaking out, just leave everyone alone about it -”

“Stop fighting,” Joe starts, “Let’s just leave the room, it’s too small for all of us to be standing around, okay?”

“It isn’t that small,” Aleks points out. Actually, the room is _comfortable_. He wants to relax and just...chill out. It feels more homey than the one downstairs, where everyone can just walk in and out between Brett and James, and the bed is comfortable and reminds him of home. That’s a weird thought, because _home_ ’s bed is a king and this is maybe a double if a little bigger, and _home_ ’s bed is also covered in blankets and dog hair while this one is - or had been - crisply made and white linen. Still, he wants to crawl under the sheets and just...sleep.

“Do what you want -” James starts turning around, “I’m - _Christ_!”

Brett had appeared during their small argument, standing in the doorway and watching them all with crossed arms and a frown, and he must have scared James something fierce because Aleks had never seen him fly across a room like that, standing in front of the door one moment and heaving scared pants against an open palm to his chest with his back to the window on the opposite side of the room in under a heartbeat.

“Brett, _motherfucker,_ you can’t just - you -”

“Do what _you_ did?” Trevor accuses, and James turns a glare so dark on him that even Aleks gets a little nervous.

“Calm down,” Brett rolls his eyes, stepping into the room with a curious, if unimpressed, look. “Rad room guys, glad we all decided to meet up in here instead of somewhere else.”

“It was Aleks’ idea,” Joe points, and Aleks gives him a wounded look, even if he isn’t particularly hurt. Great, everyone in the same room. Because that always turns out well for everyone.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me,” Brett shakes his head, and Aleks is pretty sure that’s supposed to be a dig at him but he doesn’t rise to the bait. “So that really was a Ouija board, huh?”

“I _told_ you,” James mutters, but he’s still plastered against the wall, literally every other thing in the room between him and Brett, and Aleks can’t help but notice he looks sort of like a cornered dog.

“Excuse me if I’m not inclined to believe your wild accusations right now, James,” Brett says snidely, and - great, they brought the party with them.

“It’s my board,” Aleks says tightly, “If you’re going to fight, do it somewhere else. You’re gonna ruin the, the _energy of the room_.”

“The energy -” Trevor scoffs, “This place is a fucking _void_ , I’m leaving.”

“Me, too,” Joe starts for the door, pausing in front of Brett, who’s still blocking the door, and Brett’s opening his mouth to say something again when everyone in the room goes quiet to hear the sound of a vibrating phone.

“Um,” Aleks glances around, finally stops on James, who has pulled out his phone with a wide-eyed look.

“It’s...uh,” His brows furrow together, like he’s forgotten everyone else in the room. He doesn’t answer for a few seconds after pressing the screen to his ear, and then carefully says, “Jordan?”

That comes as a shock to everyone, even Aleks, and he hisses, “speakerphone!”

James shoots him a glare, but obediently takes the phone away from his ear and holds it out instead, presses the button with his thumb. Instantly the static of the speaker fills up the room, and Jordan’s voice echoes. He sounds a bit annoyed.

“Yeah, you want to tell me why people have started tweeting me about where you are, for a convention I’m not even at?” Yep, he’s annoyed. Aleks almost smirks. “Seriously, where the heck are you guys? Apparently you were supposed to be there like two days ago?”

“We’re, uh, we’re stranded,” James says, and he uses his loud voice that’s usually only reserved for videos. His cheeks have gone a bit pink. “At some dumb hotel. Our car broke down and Lindsey can’t come get us.”

Jordan scoffs, but it sounds a little less irritated.

“Well. I’m sorry to hear that,” he says, sighs. Aleks can almost see him running his hand down his beard, like he’s thinking. “I guess I’ll let people know? I don’t know why none of your guys would’ve done that _for_ me. I’m not your darn PR manager.”

“Sorry,” James says, shrugging a little bit, but he does sound genuinely apologetic. “Wasn’t expecting it to get all the way to you, man.”

“Shocking,” Jordan says dryly. “I guess people think we’ve still got a _thing_ or whatever.”

To the people who were actually a part of the Creatures, it’s not such a big deal. Trevor just rolls his eyes a little bit, and Joe scratches at his hair a little awkwardly, and even Aleks rests forward onto his hands and sighs. The rumors were loud and very obscene on occasion; it doesn’t worry him when James scowls through a blush and takes the phone off speaker immediately, pulling it back towards his face.

“Hordan,” he says, sounds angry, “you really gotta say that shit _right now_?”

Aleks can’t hear the reply, of course, but he looks over at Brett, and that makes all the difference.

Brett just looks _pissed._ Aleks can see his nose twitching, like an angry bunny.

Time for the shit to hit the fan, apparently.

-

“No, I’m not - that’s not why I’m mad,” James mutters, turns away from them like he’s trying to hide, and Brett can feel the anger thrumming under his skin. It makes his fingers clench into fists, his teeth grit together, and he knows his face must not be doing much to hide it because Aleks has finally stood up from the bed with that _fucking_ Ouija board James hadn’t shut the fuck up about all the way up the stairs and Joe has stepped around Brett and out into the hallway.

“It doesn’t - fuck you, it doesn’t _bother me_ , it’s not that, it’s -” James grumbles, glances over his shoulder at Brett and must notice his face because he just rolls his eyes, “Hordan, you - seem off. Are you okay?”

Is _Jordan_ okay? Brett resists the urge to go over and snatch James’ phone away, talk to Jordan himself. Who the fuck does he think he is, calling James out of the blue after all the grief he’s caused he and Aleks? Why the fuck is James _talking_ to him in the first place? Why are they so goddamn comfortable with each other, even after how the Creatures had ended up?

“Look,” James finally says, a little louder, “Thanks for calling and tweeting for us. I gotta go but, uh, tell...well, no. Don’t tell anyone anything. But thanks. It, uh, means a lot?”

Brett, the thought that maybe it fucking _does_ mean _a lot_ dawning on him, tries to keep his breathing even. Count to ten. He’s just - so _angry_.

James hangs up, turns back around with a concerned face. “Jordan sounded...weird, right? What a fucking weird thing to bring up, is it just me?”

“I dunno, James,” Brett says, and he knows he sounds accusing, “is it that weird for you?”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“Stop!” Aleks grinds out, sounding irritated. Not nearly irritated enough. Maybe he doesn’t fucking see what Brett just saw. Jesus, it was like Jordan was _flaunting it_ in their goddamn _faces_. “It’s too early for this shit. We were having an okay time until you two showed up with this goddamn _fighting_! Just - let’s just fucking get out of the room and you two can go cool off away from each other.”

“I haven’t _done_ anything!” James practically shrieks, sounding angry, but Aleks just turns on his heels and bee-lines for the door, shoving past Brett roughly to get out. Trevor follows quick, ducking a little as he goes by Brett’s shoulder, until it’s just the two of them in the room.

James, for the first time, looks less angry and more nervous. What the fuck does he have to be so goddamn nervous about? Unless Brett’s fucking _right_. Unless there’s something more to that phone conversation than just a _check up_.

“It just seems weird,” Brett says, trying to stay calm, “that we don’t get any fucking service until Jordan calls, and suddenly your phone works just fine.”

James blinks at him, looks positively baffled, before he bristles.

“What the _fuck_ , Brett?! You really think that, like, I’m able to control the fucking service or something? I don’t know how Jordan called me, because I sure as fuck haven’t been able to call anyone inside, I don’t fucking know what happened!”

Brett throws his hands up, anger welling up in his stomach and traveling upwards, warm and heavy in his chest, spreading out towards every limb. He feels like it’s going to just take him over, like he’s the goddamn Hulk or something, like it’s just going to spill out of him until he can’t take it anymore.

“Well, what then?” he asks, trying and failing not to shout. “Jordan calls you and talks about a _thing_ and you don’t, I don’t know, think to ask him if he can send us a fucking ride or something?”

He knows that’s unfair, because none of them had really thought about that, but he wants to find things to hurl at James until he hits the right mark, until James just crumples underneath him; he wants it to _hurt,_ and he’s not even sure _why._ The rage is overbearing, trying everything it can to just take over, and his hands curl into fists at his sides.

“I didn’t,” James starts, runs his hands through his hair. “I didn’t think of that. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, you should be,” Brett sneers, can’t help it. “Too busy simpering at whatever slightest provocation Jordan decides to throw your way, I guess.”

There’s a part of him that realizes what he’s said, that really takes it in and tries to get him to feel the shame of it. He knows that’s not what the relationship is, he _knows_ that James and Jordan are still on terms that can only be described as rocky at best, and it’s unfair of him to fling that in James’ face like he can help what other people say to him. It’s unfair of him to keep fighting James at every turn, when they’re all so on edge all the time.

But as quickly as the shame comes, it’s replaced by the anger again, because James points at him and snaps, “You know you’ve _fucked up_ when _Jordan_ is preferable to _you_ right now!”

“That’s not what you were saying last night,” Brett laughs before he can stop himself, mocking, “Christ, is that what this is? I made you mad, so you’re trying to get on your knees for _Jordan_ -”

“Brett,” James says, voice dark and dangerous, “Keep _fucking_ talking, and I swear to _fucking Christ_ -”

“What?” Brett takes a step toward him, raising his voice, “Gonna call _Jordan_ again? Maybe get fuckin’ Seamus in on the fun?”

“What the - I haven’t talked to Seamus in _months_!”

“Yeah, like you haven’t fuckin’ talked to _Jordan_ in months, right!?”

“I’m leaving,” James threw his hands up, “Fuck you. Fuck you, _fuck you_ , I’m leaving this goddamn room, I’m leaving this goddamn hotel, I’m - I’m leaving fucking _you_ -”

Brett doesn’t know what makes him do it - he’s angry, he’s - God, he’s lightheaded with how _angry_ he is, but he almost lashes out as James walks a wide circle around him, staying close to the wall. He reaches out to grab him as he passes by and James flinches back, and the anger in his eyes crumples a little, turns into something a little closer to fear.

“I thought you were _leaving_?” Brett snarls when he doesn’t move.

“You’re scaring me,” James says quietly, a stark difference from his voice before, “Just...just let me leave, Brett. I just want to leave, okay?”

“No one’s stopping you,” Brett leans closer, takes a step in James’ direction and James lunges to the right. Brett steps in his way, just to fucking - just to make him sweat, but James fakes him out and runs in the opposite direction, out of the door.

“James,” He yells after him, “Don’t fucking run from me when we’re goddamn -”

The door, previously wide open, snaps shut with a bang so loud that Brett loses every ounce of air he’d held in his lungs. He’s expecting to get angry again, because the _fuck,_ now James is slamming doors in his face? But instead it all bleeds out of him at once, leaves a growing horror in its wake. It feels quite suddenly like the anger hadn’t even been his, like it didn’t belong to him or originate with him. He feels like the last ten minutes had been a dream.

What did he just _say_?

“James,” he says again, but this time it’s small, and he reaches for the doorknob.

It’s hard to say exactly what happens next. One second Brett’s intent on following after James, maybe he’s going to make amends or beg for forgiveness or _something_ because he doesn’t, doesn’t _understand_ what happened and why he said just terrible fucking things - but his hand barely touches the knob when he’s _wrenched_ backwards.

It’s not a nice, friendly sort of touch. He flies across the room in a split second, back hitting the wall so hard that it knocks all the wind out of him, and he crumples to the ground immediately, gasping for breath. He can hear the others from outside the door, calling out his name, but he’s heaving and clutching at his chest and can’t answer.

“What - what the fuck,” he wheezes, and then a second later all hell breaks loose.

The books go flying off the shelves and the bed shrieks on the wooden floor as it’s dragged across the planks; it’s a nightmare, the window shattering above him and showering him with shards of glass. He curls up, arms covering his head as he twitches. The glass doesn’t cut him but the books catch him with dulled corners, and then the pictures are flying as well, the bedside table, the chairs tucked into the corner. Everything flying like it’s a fucking hurricane, whipping around him so hard that for a second Brett’s genuinely afraid that he’s going to die.

“Shit!” he shouts, mostly because he’s _fucking terrified_. He can hear the doorknob shaking from the other side, and - and a dog growling right near his ear. It gets all his hair to stand up on end, ice freezing in his veins. That’s more than enough to get him onto shaking hands and knees, trying for a military crawl under all the shit still whipping around the room, but when that doesn’t work he stumbles to his feet instead and practically topples into the door, banging on it as soon as he gets there.

“Open the fucking door!” His voice is shrill, and he knows it, but he plasters himself to the wood anyway when another book slams against his side. The pain reverberates through him, makes him squeeze his eyes shut and growl against it. It’s going to leave a bruise, and as another book hits the inside of his knee, it amps up the panic. “Guys! Open the _fucking door!_ ”

“Brett!” He can barely hear whoever it is over the noise, frantic and confused. “What the fuck’s going on, what’s -”

“Stop fucking with me! Open the door!”

“We’re trying!” It might be Trevor, he can’t really tell. “Hold on, it’s locked, it’s - hold on -”

Locked. Fucking _locked._ He tries the doorknob, tugging at it as hard as he can but even when it turns the door won’t open. There’s a loud _bang_ as one of the picture frames slam into the wood right next to his head, leaves a splintered dent behind as it crashes to the floor. He flinches, hard, covers his head with his arms and presses his shoulder hard against the door as he cowers, drops low to the ground.

“Open the door,” he pleads again, and one of the chairs slam so hard into the door above him that he thinks the wood might buckle entirely; if that had hit him it could’ve snapped his legs in two. “Oh, holy fuck, guys, come on, open the fucking door, _please_ -”

He reaches for the knob again and there’s a sharp pain in his wrist suddenly, white-hot and screeching through his veins. It’s enough that he screams from it, trying to pull away. It jerks him to the floor hard, slams him down and starts to drag him away from the door like he’s nothing more than a ragdoll. It feels like teeth digging into his skin, tearing, and it hurts so fucking _much_ that his brain goes blank, he’s gasping and kicking, he’s trying to get away and it’s not _working_.

The dog barks right next to his face again, he can feel its hot breath on his cheek, and then at the same moment the door opens.

Everything goes silent. It’s like he’s lying in the aftermath of a tornado, pulling and clutching his arm against his chest as he heaves in shuddering, terrified breaths. A second later he’s surrounded by the others, hands touching at his shoulders and his back and his chest, too much at once. He flinches hard, tries to stagger to his feet before Trevor’s hand twists into his shirt to pull him back and he’s saying, “Brett, Brett dude, what the fuck, what -”

“Don’t, don’t touch me, don’t touch me,” Brett’s stumbling over his words, trying to scramble up and away. “Don’t -”

“It’s okay,” Trevor says immediately, backing up with his hands held up placatingly. “It’s okay, dude!”

“It’s _not_ okay!” Brett stutters, “It’s not - what the, the fucking _door_ -”

“It wouldn’t open!” Joe shouts, sounds fucking hysterical, “It wouldn’t - it jammed or something, James came out and it just _slammed shut_ and wouldn’t open and then there was -”

“Banging,” Aleks says, and Brett watches with wide eyes as he looks around. Brett looks too, hugging himself close, still holding his wrist tight to his chest, feeling the phantom pains from the bite, and he’s expecting to see the chaos from before. Books, wood, the bed and sheets. Instead, he sees a perfectly put together room.

“What -” He manages to get out before he starts breathing funny. Oh fuck, oh shit, what the fuck, what _the fuck_ \- “What is happening right now, what is even _happening right now_ -”

Because everything _is in place._ The table is where it belongs, the books - god, he’s covered in aching spots where the books had hit him - are all in fucking place, even the frames are where they belong. There’s no dent in the wall from where the picture had almost fucking ended his life, the bed is made, even the wrinkles from where Aleks and the others had been sitting are gone. The windows are fine, the - everything is -

He looks at his arm, where he’d been bitten. Where there should be gaping wounds, where he’s _sure_ fangs tore into him, there’s only faint bruises. An outline of marks that _could_ be teeth, but could just be from how tightly he’d been holding his own arm. It _hurt_ like it was a ripped gash - but…

“What the fuck,” he says weakly, chest starting to heave, “What the fuck - what the _fuck_ -”

“Come on,” Aleks says gently, and Brett lets him wrap an arm around his waist and slowly pull him out of the room, “Let’s go back downstairs. James.”

Brett snaps over to look at James, and James is standing in the middle of the room, alone, looking around, an odd face on his look. He reaches out, into empty air, moves his hand slow in a brushing motion, but when Aleks snaps his name a little louder he whips around to look at them, wide eyed.

“I’m coming,” he says quietly, and is the last one to leave, closing the door behind him.

Brett can barely think, Aleks’ arms around his waist, Trevor close by but keeping his distance, Joe and James hovering together behind them. He stumbles down the stairs, just wanting to get away from that goddamn room. The farther he goes, the angrier he starts to get. It starts in his stomach, right there with the fear, just bubbling and rolling, and then spreading through his legs and feet, his chest and then down his arms and into the palms of his hands and then his fingers, up through his collarbone, tightens his shoulders and spine into rigid lines, up his neck and his head, where it bleeds into his brain and makes his eyesight almost hazy with it. There’d been a brief moment in the room where he’d felt - disgusted with himself for how he’d talked to James. But now, after that, after they’d fucking - left him, they’d _left him in that room_ , he’d been _attacked_ while they all stood by and yelled a little...God, he’s _shaking_ with it.

They reach 08 fast, and Aleks doesn’t have time to grab the door because Brett stalks away from him and throws the door open so hard it bangs against the wall, marches into the room with the fury thrumming through his bones.

“Hey guys, uh,” He hears Aleks say quietly, “Give us a bit, okay? We’ll come find you later.”

“Yeah, um...okay,” Joe responds, and Brett turns around long enough to see him trailing a hand down James’ arm and squeezing his wrist before James comes into the room. Jesus, can James keep himself from throwing _every_ fuckin’ affair he’s having right in his goddamn face?

Aleks shuts the door, turns to press his back to his with a slightly concerned face while James tosses his phone on the bed, sits down heavily to bury his face in his hands.

“Brett,” Aleks says gently, “What...happened there?”

“I don’t know, _I don’t know!_ ” he says, and he’s aware there’s a tremor in his hands but he ignores it in favor of rounding on James, who looks up at him with wide eyes. “Did you fucking lock the door when you left?”

“ _What?_ ” James’ answer is immediate and completely baffled. “With what fucking key?”

He knows, somewhere, _logically,_ that there’s no way that James could’ve locked the door. There’s no way that James could have done anything, and he certainly didn’t - didn’t do whatever it was that happened in there. He keeps his bruised arm at his side, tugs his sleeve down as far as it will go and keeps shouting because it’s the only thing he _can_ do, the only thing he can fall back on.

“You were the last person in that room before the door shut on me,” he snarls, hands curling into fists. Everything about his body is a line of tension, trembling and angry. “And then, and then shit’s just - fucking going nuts and I’m stuck in there and the door won’t open. Did you seriously lock it?”

“How could I have locked it?” James shoots right back, and though he stands up off the bed he still keeps his distance. “You’re fucking crazy, man, we don’t even know what the fuck happened, why were you making so much fucking noise?”

“I wasn’t,” Brett says through his teeth, “that wasn’t me.”

“Guys,” Aleks tries, but they’re both far past listening to reason at this point. “Guys, seriously, chill -”

“You’re seriously so _childish,_ ” Brett continues, and his arm pulses once with pain. “God, you fucking lock me in some shitty bedroom that feels more like a tomb because you’re the one who wants to starts fights left and right -”

“You’re the one starting fights!” James shoots back. “Jesus, I _breathe_ wrong and it’s like I’ve personally kicked you in the fucking dick, what the hell is your _problem,_ Brett?”

“My _problem,_ ” Brett says, and even he can hear the venom in it, “is that you’ve been acting like a _fucking bitch_ the last couple of days just because we’re at some dumb hotel that’s freaking you out and you can’t control yourself!”

James goes red, but it’s not because he’s flustered or embarrassed. He’s _mad._

“Fuck you,” he says again, angrier than before. “Fucking fuck you, Brett, I don’t know what the fuck’s crawled up your asshole and _died_ but you don’t get to just, to just speak to me like that because you woke up on the wrong side of the fucking bed!”

“Dude,” Aleks tries again, and he sounds like he actually gives a shit this time around. “You guys need to fucking _stop,_ this isn’t helping anyone!”

“I told you I was fucking leaving you and I mean it!” James continues, shrill and upset. “If this is how you’re gonna act, it’s not worth it anymore, man!”

“You’re a fucking _joke_ ,” Brett sneers, “You’re an overdramatic asshole, and you’re gonna be crawling back the second you realize you’re not _shit_. Two dicks not enough, James? Gotta go crying to Jordan? Maybe you can get the old crew together, have a fuckin’ homecoming orgy -”

“Brett!” Aleks shouts, “Brett, Jesus, calm the fuck down! James, what the - you’re _leaving_? When the fuck did you - what is even _happening_ right now!?”

“I can’t fucking control who calls me, you piece of shit!” James’ voice is getting louder and louder; the entire hotel can probably hear them at this point, or at the very least Joe and Trevor can, but Brett can’t really find it in himself to care anymore. “You really so fuckin’ insecure that you think fucking _Jordan_ is a threat? Seriously? What the fuck next, then, man, you callin’ me a fucking whore isn’t enough then go ahead and air your fucking grievances and go sleep with _fucking Trevor!_ ”

“You’re fucking Trevor!?” Aleks says, incredulous, and Brett glares at him, his arm pulsing angrier and angrier, a steady _pain_ that’s just winding him up. His chest is still so tight, his heart is beating a mile a minute and it all _hurts_ \- the thought of James with someone else, the bruises and the _bite mark_ on his arm, the fear, the anger itself, it all _hurts_ and yelling isn’t making it any better but at least he’s fucking getting _something out_.

“ _No_ , I’m not fucking Trevor, not that James has any goddamn room to talk! You think we haven’t noticed you disappearing with Joe every fuckin’ ten minutes? We not enough for you, James?”

“Jesus _Christ_ , I’m not allowed to have friends!? You’re going after _Joe_ now, when you _literally invited Trevor to sleep with us_!?”

“He’s a fuckin’ _kid_ -”

“He’s almost twenty-one goddamn years old! Maybe that’s a kid to your _ancient ass -_ ”

“Oh, now you’re just throwing random shit out! What, can’t fucking defend yourself here? You think the _oh, he’s so old_ card is gonna do me in!?”

“You’re the one throwing a huge hissy _fit_ because I spend my time with Joe since I can’t fucking _stand_ you anymore!” James is getting in his face now, and Brett may have the size but fuck if James doesn’t have the volume. “Why don’t you go bitch to Lindsey some more about how _terrible_ I am and how much I stress you out, I’m sure Lindsey wants to hear all it all the time.”

“Leave Lindsey out of this,” Brett says through his teeth, and James throws his hands up.

“Oh, can’t say _shit_ about Lindsey, can’t say shit about Trevor, but you’re gonna fucking stand there and accuse me of cheating with Joe because he’s the only one who hasn’t acted like I’m the fucking shit on the bottom of his goddamn shoe!”

Brett laughs mockingly, “You know what, James? Fuckin’ leave, then! I don’t give a _fuck_ if you walk out right goddamn now, but I thought we got at least four more years of you pretending to be useful before you cut and run! At least you aren’t gonna tank the goddamn channel this time, huh!?”

“ _Stop!_ ” Aleks shouts, booming and angry, and that seems to be the final straw for him. He’s between them, a hand on both of their chests, and Brett’s so mad he can’t see straight. “Fucking _stop,_ you’re both being fucking assholes right now, just _stop!_ ”

Brett’s mad enough that he wants to shove Aleks aside and just _attack._ It feels like everything he’s ever thought, nasty and mean and cruel, is just rising up in him, gathering on the tip of his tongue and fizzing everything else out in his brain. He wants to lash out, wants to _hurt_ with more than just words, it’s an overbearing anger that has his vision red at the corners. Fuck James, fuck this _company,_ fuck everything -

“He started it,” James says, pushes on Aleks’ hand a little, as if this is just another argument, as if Brett doesn’t want to, to _hurt_ and _maim_ and -

“I don’t give a flying _fuck,_ James! Both of you shut the fuck up, I really don’t _care_ who started it!”

“I started it and I’ll fucking end it too,” Brett growls, pushes forward at the same time; Aleks shoves them both back. “I’ll fucking end it right now if you don’t get the _fuck_ out of my face.”

“You fuckin’ - you fuckin’, you,” James steps back, sudden enough that Aleks staggers a little at the lack of counter force to James’ side of the two, and Brett gets to watch all of his hard fucking work pay off as James’ face breaks. He sees James go from furious to furious and _pained_ , and that doesn’t ease anything, not until he sees the wet tears forming, the upset pull of his lips, the defeated slump of him that tells Brett he’s fucking _won_ , finally.

“You want me gone?” James laughs, and it isn’t mocking but it isn’t happy - more of a miserable huff, “Fine. Fine. I’m fuckin’ gone, man. It isn’t - it isn’t like you gave a shit in the first place, right? And _you_ -” he turns on Aleks, “You’re just, you’re just as fuckin’ bad! You just _stand there_ while he says that shit, like you don’t care if I _am_ cheating or not, you haven’t said a goddamn word to defend me, neither of you! You just tell me I’m overreacting or that I’m being a _fucking bitch_ , or -”

His voice cracks and he inhales loud and hard, not quite a sob, but Brett isn’t gonna say it wasn’t one, either.

“Fuck you. Fuck this shit. God, I was so _fucking stupid_ to think this was ever gonna fucking _work_ -”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve made a fucking mistake! Though this is definitely the biggest,” Brett snaps, because he wants to see the tears, and he gets his wish. James sneers at them both, shoves past Aleks’ grasping hands when he tries to stop him, Aleks’ eyes wide and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The door slams hard behind James, he didn’t even take his shit, his phone is still where he tossed it on the bed and his clothes are on the floor and in the bag.

It feels - final. Somehow. Like Brett should have savored that last view of him, because he was never gonna see him again.

There’s a heavy silence in the room that falls on them both after that. Brett’s breathing too hard, feeling like he’s just run a marathon, and Aleks sighs heavily and flops down onto the bed, rests his arms behind his head.

“Well,” he says, and sounds almost disappointed. “Hope you’re fuckin’ happy, dude.”

It occurs to Brett then that, no. He’s not.

It occurs to Brett that he...he has no idea what the hell just happened. What the fuck had he just done?

 


	5. Day 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: suicidal thoughts
> 
> ok guys so we've run out of pre-written material BUT we're gonna try to have them out soon!!!
> 
> day 4...

Aleks isn’t sure when he’s awake and when he’s asleep, anymore. It’s hard to tell, is the problem. He feels heavy, so _bored_ \- not tired so much as...aimless, and he can’t think of anything better to do than sleep, so he just...keeps drifting back and forth between waking and oblivion. He sleeps through the rest of the day, mostly. Through Brett pacing all over the room and sitting on the bed and then jumping out of it, through his constant mumbling and back-and-forth with himself, and he only really knows any of that happens because he doesn’t think he’d dream of Brett sitting on the edge of the bed and crying into a shirt he can only assume belongs to James. He knows that he tries to reach for him, comfort him, at one point, but his arms are just so heavy. He goes back to sleep instead.

Now, he’s staring at the ceiling, but he isn’t entirely sure it isn’t a dream, either. That all of this isn’t a dream. Maybe he’s home, curled up in his bed with Mishka and Celia or even Brett and James. Maybe they’re a dream. Maybe he’s still back in Colorado, living with Sly and leaving the Hub and making Cow Chop is the dream. Maybe he’s with his dad and hasn’t even played Minecraft yet. Maybe he’s in Russia, just sleeping and dreaming up this whole God damn life. Maybe he isn’t even real, and this is all an illusion, and he’s just a part of someone else’s dream. Just alive for as long as they’re asleep, and then - poof. Gone. He didn’t know that he’d mind.

He rolls over, slow, like he’s under water, and Brett’s lying next to him. He’s on his side facing Aleks, curled up with his arms over his head like he’s scared something is going to come down on him. Even in the dark, Aleks can make out bruises on his bared arms, the sleeves shoved up to his elbows. They look nasty, dark against his skin. Their eyes meet, and Brett’s look pained and so terribly sad. Aleks would offer a hug or something, but he’s just...it feels like he’s made of lead.

“What did I say to him, Aleks?” Brett asks quietly, and his voice is cracked and broken, cheeks still tear-streaked, eyes bloodshot and puffy. “How could I say that to him?”

Aleks would say something, _wants_ to say something, but he doesn’t at the same time, and that urge is more powerful than the first. He weakly pats Brett’s hand, feels a spark of _something_ when Brett tangles their fingers together like he’s scared Aleks will reject him, and then Aleks falls asleep, or maybe he wakes up.

The next time he wakes up, or maybe falls asleep, it’s to the sound of shattering glass and a great crash and yell. He rolls back over to his other side, pulls the pillow he’s cuddling closer and cracks his eyes open. The room is dark, except for the light leaking out from under the bathroom door and the moonlight through the shades. He hears what sounds like an animal for a solid moment, then realizes it’s Brett growling and grunting, and the shadows playing in the light from under the door must be him. Aleks watches, eyes barely open, and listens. He hears more glass break, hears Brett make a deep, wounded noise, and then he’s slipping back into that comfortable place where he isn’t bored because he isn’t awake.

He opens his eyes again and Brett’s back on the bed, except he’s sitting on the edge where Aleks is, slowly stroking Aleks’ hair with a touch so tender it almost hurts. Aleks has curled his body around Brett, knees pulled up to touch his thigh, his lower back to Aleks’ stomach.

“I fucked up the bathroom,” Brett says softly. “And I cut up my hands on the mirror so I came out here to find something to wrap them with and then I went back to the bathroom to clean up the mess and nothing was broken but I still had the cuts on my hands.”

Aleks hums in response, tilts his head a little when Brett strokes his cheek gently with a thumb.

“Can you just...wake up for me, sweetheart?” Brett asks, a little desperate, “I really...I really fucked up this time. I need you. I’m...fuck, I’m going insane, I really need you right now.”

Aleks wants to say he’s trying. That he’s trying to wake up so hard. Instead, he moves his hand so slow it feels like it isn’t even his, and brings Brett’s other hand to his face so that Brett has to twist a little. He kisses his fingers, tastes blood, squeezes his hand a little, and goes back under. He’s _sorry_ , he’s just...Fuck, he just doesn’t have the energy for it.

He opens his eyes some time later, and the room is lighter but still dim, just the sun leaking in through the blinds instead of the moon this time. Brett is sitting on the other side of the bed now, staring down at his hands. One’s bandaged up, stained just slightly enough that Aleks would think it may be blood if he could find it in himself to care.

He must have made a noise or shifted, because Brett turns to look at him, but doesn’t reach out.

“You’re awake?” He says softly, like he doesn’t want to break the quiet of the room. Aleks, somewhere far away, misses James and how he makes the quiet seem not so damning.

“Dunno,” Aleks sighs, pulls the blanket tighter around himself. He’s still in his jeans, hadn’t bothered changing before passing out.

“James didn’t come back last night.” Brett says after a small lull. “Joe and I are gonna go look for him. I...Fuck, I need to apologize. Try to fix this. Trev’s gonna come stay with you, okay?”

Aleks hums in response, honestly doesn’t care if Trev comes or not. He’s just gonna go back to sleep, probably.

“I love you,” Brett says, and he sounds scared.

“‘Love you,” Aleks mumbles back on instinct more than anything else. He’s not the one Brett wants to say that to, anyway. Not right now.

He closes his eyes in a blink and, when he opens them again, Trevor’s in the room, laying with him instead of Brett. They’re not as close as they’d been yesterday, but they’re close enough that Aleks can lazily stretch his fingers out and touch Trevor’s hair. Trevor opens his eyes, looks at him, and his cheeks are streaked with wet lines, eyes red rimmed and frustrated and wide and scared all at once.

“Brett said you’re sick.”

“Maybe,” Aleks sighs out, doesn’t argue. He doesn’t feel sick, but he doesn’t feel much at all either way.

“I’m so tired, Aleks,” Trevor whispers, “I haven’t...God, I haven’t slept in days...How can you sleep?”

“Dunno,” Aleks would shrug, but he can’t find it in himself to. “Did you get those pills?”

“I got ‘em out of the van,” Trevor tilts his head into Aleks’ fingers and Aleks runs them through his hair again. It’s all the energy he’s got to spare, and it wasn’t enough for Brett but Trevor seems to be taking some sort of comfort out of it so Aleks keeps doing it, even if only because he’s already started and he sees no reason to stop. “But I set ‘em down and I can’t remember where.”

Aleks should maybe be annoyed about that? Those were prescription for when his anxiety got too bad, and he wouldn’t be able to get a refill for like three months, but it was barely a thought in his head before it was gone. It didn’t much matter, really.

“Try to sleep now.”

“I can’t,” Trevor lowers his voice, “I _can’t_.”

“Why?” Aleks asks, more out of a sense of expectation than actual curiosity.

“Because _they’re_ watching.”

Aleks blinks slow, sits up with Herculean effort and looks around the room. “Trev, no one’s here.”

“You can’t see them,” Trevor hesitates, “No one else can fucking see them, I dunno if they’re real or not, but _I_ see them, and they...they’re watching,”

“How many days have you gone without sleep again?”

“I dunno,” Trevor hesitates, “I slept a little on the first night but nothing really since then.”

“They’re just, just, uh, figments. Of your imagination, ‘cause you’re tired.” Aleks tugs his hair a little, goes back to petting slow and repetitive, “You’re seeing things. They aren’t real.”

“They _look_ real,” Trevor whispers even softer than before, flinches hard toward Aleks suddenly and goes rigid, “Aleks, I’m scared, man.”

“Everyone’s scared,” Aleks blinks, eyelids heavy, but he tugs Trevor until he comes closer, until he gets under the blankets with him and they’re both curled up together, Trevor’s face hidden under the comforter like he’s a kid trying to keep the monsters from seeing them. This, at least, gets him to relax a little. “Tell me about them. Maybe that’ll, I dunno, make ‘em less real.”

“Um,” Trevor swallows, “There are, there are two right now. But there are more, sometimes, it’s just they follow the others around, so it’s just these two right now. Women - one’s, maybe a teenager or something and the other is that - you know? The wife in the picture upstairs? The Lady of the house. I-I think the girl is Kate.”

“We made Kate up,” Aleks points out, “Remember? Fuckin’...influence, or something. Just our brains playing tricks.”

“Then why does she keep...she keeps looking at me,” Trevor tucks his face into his arms, so close to Aleks that they probably look like a single person under the blankets piled on top of them. “She just keeps _looking_ , and she’s just as tired as I am. And the lady keeps touching you, like, it’s so creepy, why am I _seeing this_ -”

“Because you haven’t slept,” Aleks runs his hand through Trevor’s hair and Trevor’s close enough that it’s just a small movement, nothing too tiring. “And your brain is exploding. Sleep.”

“Joe and I heard a monster yesterday,” Trevor says instead, honesty sounding terrified, “We were - it was after we left you guys. We were in Joe’s room, setting the equipment up to pull footage out, and I opened the door to go back to my room and it was like - like a big wolf, maybe - growling and snarling and coming down the hall toward us? I thought I was just imagining it at first, but Joe slammed the door and we hid in the bathroom until we stopped hearing it.”

“The air vents,” Aleks supposes, though he does feel a spark of unease at the thought. Not enough to _do_ anything with, but it’s there. “It was probably the air vents coming on.”

“It wasn't.” Trevor audibly swallows, “You don't see it and you don't experience it...but this place is fuckin’ - it's...haunted, if that's what you wanna fuckin’ call it. I don’t fuckin’ know, man, I don’t _know_ , it’s just _wrong_ -”

Aleks would laugh, but he’s just so bored already. He just wants to sleep, and Trevor’s voice is soft and rhythmic, gives him something to listen to besides the silence he wants James there to fill.

“Tell me about them,” he says, maybe more stern that he means to be, and Trevor makes a distressed noise but starts talking

“There’s some guy on Brett’s back. He just...perches and Brett has to carry him, and he’s so angry, Aleks. He’s angry and so fuckin’ scary, man, he looks at us with these eyes and it's like they're fuckin’...it's like he wants to hurt them. He keeps yelling at Brett and I can't hear what he’s saying, but it’s not fucking good, man.”

Aleks barely has the energy to hum, but he does. Keeps petting through Trevor’s hair, paying attention but only until he’s ready to rest again.

“And there are like, these kids that won't let me _sleep?_ They keep jumping at me or shaking me or just _fucking_ with me so I stay awake, I fucking hate them! Kate is always crying, she hasn't stopped since I started seeing her yesterday and she keeps coughing. I think she’s making me sick.”

“She can't make you sick, Trev, she isn’t real -”

“She is, though!” Trevor snaps, pushes Aleks’ hand to his forehead. It could be that Aleks’ hand is just cold, but Trevor feels like he’s burning up. “I’m getting sick, man, and we aren’t even at the con! No one else is _here_ , where else could I have caught a goddamn sickness!?”

“So, fine, okay, you’ve got kids harassing you and some bitch making you sick and you think Brett’s piggybacking some angry fuck around. What else?”

“The Lady,” Trevor curls up tighter, “She’s on you, dude. She’s...like? It’s like she’s got your head all wrapped up and she’s laying with her head on your shoulder, and she keeps looking at me like I’m trash, just _staring_ at me!”

“You aren’t trash,” Aleks sighs, but Trevor shakes his head before he even finishes.

“I don’t care what she _thinks_ of me,” Trevor denies, a little angry, “She won’t let you go, Aleks! And Joe’s got - this guy, this sick dude in the corner of his room that’s following him everywhere and trying to tell him something but neither of us can hear him and every time he touches Joe, Joe flips the fuck out.”

“Joe’s got a sick person, too? What, so we all have someone after us? Is that it?”

“Yes!”

“Trevor, you know this sounds…”

“Insane,” Trevor says, following with a big whoosh of warm air against Aleks’ shoulder.

“Right.”

“I know.”

“So let’s just keep saying that it’s because you need to sleep.”

“But -”

“ _Sleep_ , Trev,” Aleks stresses the word, pets his hair again, and Trevor sounds like he’s going to argue but Aleks doesn’t want to talk anymore. He still isn’t tired, it’s more...a bone-deep weariness. The feeling of _I’ve had enough for now_.

He takes his own advice and sleeps.

The room’s empty when he wakes up next, and he stares at the wall and wills himself to stop existing, if only for a moment. He suddenly wants tea, a strong blend he doesn’t have a name to but that he knows he’d adore. It would make him happy. It’s the only thing that will make him happy, he thinks. He should go find Joe, or the cook. Have some made.

He sleeps, instead.

“We looked everywhere,” he hears Brett say at some point. “But we couldn’t find him. We looked fucking everywhere. He’s _gone_.”

“He’s gotta be _somewhere_ ,” Joe says, tight and angry, “He’d be _here_ if it weren’t for _you_!”

“I know! Okay, I know!” Brett yells back, and Aleks wants to get involved, but he also very much doesn’t.

“He’ll show up,” Aleks promises, and sleeps before he hears anything else.

-

He doesn’t know quite where he is, or how he ends up there. James just knows that he followed the sound of nails clicking on hardwood floors - it reminds him of Ein, reminds him of her jumping around and following after him while he’s trying to feed her dinner, and it’s such a comforting sound that he doesn’t think about the carpet that lines the hotel floors.

There’s no set destination in his mind; he just walks, tries to get away before everything overflows, moves fast so that Brett can’t catch up to him and scream at him some more. He can’t handle it, can’t take the thought of being thrown to the ground and stepped on and having the people that he loves most spit in his fucking face, it just _hurts -_

The dog barks once and he follows it around a corner, trying to find it. It might be lost, it might belong to someone in the hotel. It sounds big, bigger than Ein or Mishka, so it shouldn’t be too hard to find. Right?

It is. He can hear it panting and he _tries,_ he really does, he follows it for longer than such a small hotel should allow, but it always seems just beyond a corner. James tries to move faster until he feels like he’s jogging, and he _shouldn’t_ be, this hotel is too goddamn _small_ for that -

Something tugs on his sleeve, earnest and forceful. James nearly yelps, nearly jerks his hand back but it’s not anything that _hurts._ It’s insistent, like a dog pulling him. There’s nothing there, but he feels it, and hesitantly, almost distantly even, he follows it.

He remembers this part of the hotel. They’d been here earlier, when Brett -

The thought of Brett makes his chest clench up and James sucks in a sharp breath, lets the dog tug him into one of the rooms. It pulls sharply, in short bursts of strength, a mutt playing tug o’war with its favorite chew toy. James ought to be scared. He ought to be _freaking_ the _fuck_ out, because there’s nothing there, but… but he just follows instead. The dog hasn’t hurt him yet.

He remembers now. It had stood in the middle of the museum, wagging its tail, panting with its tongue lolling out of its mouth. He had given it a few grateful strokes down the top of its head.

“Good boy,” he says unthinkingly, steps into the room it’s led him into. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

It barks happily, lets go of his sleeve to do so and instead starts to tug at the hem of his shirt. James smiles vacantly, eyes fluttering.

“Yeah,” he says, in a dream. “You’re a good boy. You’ll keep me safe, won’t you?”

It barks again, and the door slams shut behind him.

All of the air leaves his lungs in one startled gasp and he whips around, the spell broken. He realizes quite suddenly that he’s all alone in a room he doesn’t recognize _at all;_ it’s not another hotel room, though it does have several beds in it. There are no windows, and the air is musty and stifling like a _tomb,_ and from near his hand the dog starts to whimper.

_What are you doing in here?_

Again, James turns too sharply, letting out a soft noise of fright when there’s no one behind him. It felt like someone was speaking directly into his ear, whispering, felt like a hand coming down on his shoulder. The dog whines again, but it’s farther away like it’s retreating. James takes a step back, licks his lips nervously as he says out loud, “Who’s there?”

_You don’t belong in here._

Okay. Okay. He needs to pull it together. He doesn’t remember how he got here, doesn’t remember how long it took, but he carefully crosses the room and grabs the doorknob. Though it turns in his hand, it doesn’t open, and he remembers being on the other side of the door as Brett begged them to open it, remembers -

_Did you lock the fucking door when you left?_

“I didn’t,” he says, jiggles the knob again. “I fucking didn’t, I didn’t lock the door, how could I have - _fuck!_ ” It comes out of him in a frustrated yell, he feels goddamn _helpless,_ and he throws his arms up in the air, whirls around. “I didn’t lock the _fucking_ door!”

_You’re seriously so childish._

“Shut up!” He covers his ears, shakes his head. “I don’t know what the _fuck -_ what the fuck is going on, shut _up!_ ”

_You’re a fucking joke._

“ _Shut up!_ ”

The dog’s whining in earnest now, and the air’s overwhelmingly thick, makes James curl in on himself with his hands pressed hard against his ears, but for all the good it does he might as well not be covering them at all. Brett’s voice is as clear as day, right in his ear, sneering and mean, cutting into him like a knife.

_You’re gonna be crawling back the second you realize you’re not shit._

“You’re not real,” James says firmly, tries to say it calmly as he straightens his back again. He shakes his head, swallows hard, keeps his eyes squeezed shut. There’s a buzzing up his spine, the inescapable feeling of being watched from all sides, and even with his eyes closed he can feel it. A tremor starts in his shoulders and works through his arms, down to his knees. “You’re not real.”

_I thought you were leaving?_

“I’m fucking _trying,_ ” and shit, James is well aware of how crazy he must sound, but he doesn’t care. He tries the doorknob again, but it won’t open, he’s trapped in the room and the walls almost feel like they’re closing in on him. Again there’s an insistent pull on his shirt, the dog growling lightly and tugging; he follows where it wants him to go if only because he doesn’t know what else to do. It leads him to one of the beds, well-made if not with cheap sheets and a thin pillow.

He flops down onto it, presses his face into the pillow as he clutches at it and tries to breathe. He doesn’t know where he is. He wants to be back home, back in Los Angeles, he wants to be squashed up between Aleks and Brett and he wants this to be a dream, distant and foggy, he doesn’t want to _be here._

_Leave, then._

James peeks one eye out from the pillow as the bedside table rattles once. There’s a bottle of pills, label facing him, and he recognizes it as the prescription Aleks uses for his restless nights. It’s still nearly full - Aleks had only stopped at the pharmacy to get it refilled a week or so ago - and he hesitantly reaches out, takes the little plastic bottle in one hand.

_I don’t give a fuck if you walk out right goddamn now._

He stares at the bottle, resting innocently in his curled fingers, and then he sits up too quickly, chucks it as hard as he can against the wall with a loud yell. It pops open, the pills scattering all over the floor and rolling across the carpet, and he buries his face in the pillow again, lets out a scream of frustration.

When he raises his head again, the bottle is back exactly where it was, pills neatly stacked inside.

_I started it, and I’ll fucking end it too._

This time when James picks the bottle up, he keeps it in his hand, and tries to drift off to sleep with the promise of more than sleep if he needs it.

 


	6. Day 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter warning for emetophobia!
> 
> sorry about the delay in updates @-@ we fell a bit behind, but the conclusion will be tomorrow!

“I’m only showing you this because I don’t know who else to go to.” Joe’s voice is probably the nastiest it’s ever been, and Brett can’t even blame him for it. “Just - just look.”

They’ve been searching all fucking night and all of yesterday, and there’s not a sign of James anywhere in the hotel. Without his stuff in the room, there wouldn’t even be a trace of him having been there at all. And fuck, Brett’s trying real hard to keep himself together but this is the point where he’s not _worried,_ he’s _freaking out,_ he’s this close to just fucking losing it because James is literally gone, and it’s because of things that Brett said, the poison coming out of his own mouth of what felt like its own volition.

They’d left Aleks and Trevor back in Trevor’s room. Brett doesn’t want to, because Aleks just sleeps all day and Trevor’s the complete opposite, but they didn’t have a choice in the matter. Both are all but unresponsive, with Aleks only waking up for a second or two when he’s jostled before he drifts right back off. Brett had pressed a hand to his forehead and then to Trevor’s, and while Aleks felt normal he could already tell that Trevor’s just getting worse. He’d barely blinked at the contact, had only swayed a little with his lashes fluttering, and the bags under his eyes are _bad._ He’d looked exhausted, and hadn’t really answered when either of them spoke to him.

Now Brett’s got Joe pissed at him, one boyfriend missing, and the other plus his friend curled up side by side in a bed, completely unable to fend for themselves.

Brett hates this _fucking_ hotel.

“I set up cameras in my room,” Joe explains as he opens the viewfinder. Brett gives him an odd look, but he’s ignored, and Brett takes that moment to look around while Joe continues. “I figured maybe I could… I could, I dunno, go through the footage and see if James stopped in my room at some point.”

“Did he?” Brett asks, finally spotting the other camera recording them, and Joe sighs more out of what sounds like restlessness than annoyance.

“No.” Joe almost, _almost_ laughs. “That would’ve been too easy.”

“Okay, then, what -”

“I’m getting to that,” Joe snaps, and though there’s a rush of anger, like a wave, that builds in Brett’s chest quickly, he tapers it down with a deep breath through his nose. They’re all fucked up. He knows that. There’s no need to make things even worse than they already are. He’s done enough of that already, he thinks.

Brett watches a little curiously as Joe turns on the camera and starts to fast-forward. He can catch a brief glimpse of Joe and Trevor running into the bathroom together and that gets him to furrow his brow, but Joe just shakes his head and then presses pause. Brett looks over at him, and Joe has a tense look in his eye - now that Brett’s closer, he can see that he’s pale, too, and not just from fright.

“Just,” Joe says, and sighs as he presses play. “Just listen. Okay?”

It sounds mostly quiet. He can just barely, _barely_ hear the sounds of Joe and Trevor whispering quietly to themselves from inside the bathroom over crackling static, and - Brett cocks his head. Static? Their camera mic is far too good for there to be _static,_ and he’s about to comment when the static shifts loudly, one bright pulse before it settles into nothing at all.

Brett looks up.

“What the fuck?”

Joe’s mouth is thin, and he rewinds again, back to the same spot, presses play.

“Listen.”

Again they run through the clip and, now that Brett knows what to look for, he focuses on it, swallows hard as he tries to make some sense out of whatever it is Joe’s showing him. He hears the pulse again, one sudden jump in otherwise uninteresting white noise, and then Joe rewinds it again and switches the frame rate. Now Brett’s beyond confused, feels like he’s in some shitty horror movie, and Joe takes one more deep breath and presses play.

This time, Brett hears it.

 _Run_ , the whisper says, scratchy and barely there but fucking _there_ , nonetheless.

“Fuck you,” he says immediately, backing away. “No, dude, I’m not doing this. This fucking hotel is _not haunted -_ ”

“James and I somehow travel through time when we’re alone,” Joe holds up one finger, “Trevor keeps talking about _seeing people_ that aren’t there,” he lifts a second finger, “we have a _voice_ telling us to _run_ on camera,” he holds up a third, “two days ago, _you_ were literally thrown around a room and got beat to shit, but the room was totally fine,” he holds up a fourth finger, “and now James is _missing_ and we’ve not only searched every room we have access to, but we stole the keys from behind the desk and checked all the rooms in the building!” He lifts his thumb and then waves his hand in Brett’s face. “ _It’s fucking haunted!_ ”

“I don’t have time for this, Joe,” Brett swallows, takes his hand off the door handle to Trevor’s room, “We’ll look upstairs again. He hasn’t fucking disappeared off the face of the planet. He’s in the goddamn hotel. We’ll find him, and then we’re leaving.”

“But the van -”

“ _Fuck_ the van!” Brett says sharply, “We’ll goddamn _walk_. I’ll carry Aleks, you guys get Trevor. We’re leaving this pit.”

“...you’re serious?” Joe frowns and, for just a second, it’s like he forgets that he’s pissed as fuck at Brett and the aggression in his voice goes away.

“I’m dead fucking serious,” Brett looks at his phone, takes note of the time - it’s past nine at night - and then tightens his free hand into a fist. It hurts - the cuts from when he’d punched the mirror are deep, and not kind, and his body is a mess of bruises and aches and pains, but it focuses him. He...feels more settled with that decision than he has since they fucking got to this place. He’s gonna find James, and James is gonna be so fuckin’ pissed at him, and he’ll have every right to be because Brett was - he’d said some disgusting shit. He deserved every bit of James’ anger, and he’d have to figure...that out. Their relationship and where it stands, all of that, but they could do it away from this hotel. Haunted or not, it was the fucking worst. Part of him hopes it’s on Yelp! just so he can give it a shitty review. _‘Great food, but the poltergeist activity is a miss.’_

“I’m fuckin’ done with this place.”

“Maybe we should split up,” Joe’s face twists just saying the words and Brett gets the same feeling in his gut that Joe has on his face.

“Are we in Scooby Doo? Am I Fred?”

“Haha, you’re hilarious,” Joe crosses his arms, in no mood to put up with him. He seems to remember that he’s pissed at Brett and glares, “You check upstairs, I’ll pack everything up and take all of our shit to Trevor’s room with them and then we can leave once we find James.”

“It’s around nine now,” Brett hesitates, “Look, I’m not saying this place is fucking haunted. But if we’re not back by midnight, get Trevor to help you with Aleks and get out. Leave the shit. I’ll stay until I find him, okay? They’re not spending another night here.”

“No offense,” Joe gives him a dull look, “But I trust you with my best friend about as far as I can throw you. He’s gone _because_ of you. If you haven’t found him by twelve, then you leave with them and _I’ll_ stay until I find him.”

“Joe -”

“I’m not leaving him.” Joe shuts him down before he can even try to defend himself, and, really, he can’t. “Just...just find him. I don’t want to stay here anymore than you do. There’s gotta be - somewhere we haven’t looked. Try the museum again.”

And that makes Brett’s chest lock up, the thought of going back into that room. _Alone_. But Joe...Joe’s got a point. Joe’s the one that went in last time they went through it, but Brett would be alone this time. He’d do it, to find James, but it would...it wouldn’t be pleasant.

“Okay,” he says, and his voice is soft. “Okay, we’ll - we’ll figure this out.”

Joe nods, and then his face pinches up as he presses a hand to his stomach. Now that Brett can take the time to look at him, he can see that Joe’s pale, a bit drawn. He can’t actually remember the last time he saw Joe eat anything when they were down in the dining room.

“You alright?”

Joe doesn’t really shake his head, but he doesn’t nod either.

“I’m fine. My stomach’s upset.”

Brett hums a little knowingly.

“First thing we’re gonna do is get some food in you,” he says a little sternly. Joe looks up at him, confused, but it dawns slowly on his expression as Brett continues. “Yeah. I noticed. We’ll get you a whole fuckin’ pizza or, or a box of mac and cheese. Something.”

Joe groans suddenly, and his stomach gurgles audibly.

“Don’t mention food right now. Just. Just go look for James.”

They part ways, not on any kind of friendly terms, and Brett almost regrets it immediately. If something were to happen - but no. He’s not going to think like that. He’s going to find James, and they’re going to get the fuck _out_ of here, and they’re never going to look back. Fuck creepy hotels, fuck… fuck ghosts, and whatever other shit is going on here. Joe shuts his door in Brett’s face, and Brett turns around to face Trevor’s door.

It hurts his hand when he rubs hard as his face, and when he takes his hands away he can see that the gauze is spotted with blood. Brett watches as it oozes slowly outwards, filling out the criss-crossing fabric on each bump of his knuckles. Shouldn’t have punched the mirror, and he definitely regrets it, but he’d been so _upset_. One more hit like that, and he’d probably break his hand.

Still, the pain of it gives him a center, and he quickly ducks back into Trevor’s room. Aleks is passed out, just a bit of a line between his eyes, and Trevor’s on his side next to him, his gaze distant until he can focus on Brett.

“I’m gonna look for James again, and then we’re leaving. Okay?” He runs his good hand through Trevor’s hair, lets it flop back as Trevor inhales slowly and nods. His face is flushed with fever, sweat dotting his forehead. His eyes are unfocused when he looks at Brett, but he hasn’t slept a wink since Brett’s seen him. Brett hasn’t slept much either, just passed out with exhaustion after their search yesterday and then got up early with Joe to pick up where they’d left off, but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere near Trevor’s level of total deprivation.

“Just...just buck up for me,” Brett tries to smile and Trevor just grunts in response, nodding.

“I’m fine.”

“Sure, you are,” Brett wipes his forehead again, gives Aleks one more long, concerned look, and then leaves the room. He shuts the door behind him but doesn’t lock it. Aleks’ key is on Trevor’s dresser and Joe’ll be able to use that to get their shit from their room. Honestly, none of it is important enough for Brett to mind losing at this point, even if Joe can’t.

The hallway is smaller than he wants it to be when he turns to start walking. He can see the front door, the railing of the grand staircase and he starts walking toward it with intent. He’s gonna find James. He’s gonna get them out of this place.

He walks. And walks. And walks. He walks for what feels like nearly half an hour but, when he checks his phone, it isn’t even nine-thirty yet. It looks like he’s made no progress at all, and it makes his skin crawl. Jesus, what the _fuck_ was wrong with this place?

He starts to jog. Like if he just goes faster, he can beat out the affront to physics that this hallway is, and he remembers that first morning; walking to the front room with Trevor, feeling like the hallway had been a never-ending length of ugly carpet and doors. He wishes he could go back in time and just - hit himself on the head. Tell him to take his friends and get the hell out of here before...this. All of this. He jogs for a long time, until his legs feel like he’s been on an actual run instead of just down the hall.

He checks his phone again, doesn’t stop moving but slows back down to a walk. It’s nearly eleven. He still hasn’t reached the end of the hall.

“What,” He mutters to himself, or maybe to the hotel, “What, you gonna fuckin’ trap me in a hallway forever?” he straightens up, head held high, and cuts as imposing a figure as he can as he marches down the hall, like he’s gonna scare the hotel right back. “It’s not gonna fuckin’ work on me, you bitch. I’m _going_ _upstairs_. If I have to walk for goddamn _days_.”

Faintly, from the front hall, he hears a soft laugh - a high-pitched giggle that, for a brief moment, he thinks is James. He quickens his pace into a full on run.

“James,” He calls and, when his voice doesn’t come out strong enough, says it louder, “ _James_!”

He hears the giggle again, finally fucking reaches the end of the hall, and he pauses to look around. “James?”

There’s a heavy thump on the stairs and he whirls around, but they’re empty. Just out of sight at the top, he hears the giggle again. “James, goddamn it, stop playing around! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

He grips the railing, takes the first few stairs, and then he hears the giggling again and _knows_ , without a shadow of a doubt, that it isn’t James.

“Okay…” he breathes out, “Okay. Fine. Not James, then. Who are you?”

He doesn’t get a response so, with a fortifying breath, he keeps climbing. Every step squeaks. He hadn’t noticed that the last time he’d climbed these, when he and James had been bickering about the Ouija board that he’d taken from Aleks yesterday and broken in two in one of his fits of more severe anger. His boots are heavy against the old wood. If he focuses on the feeling, he can...almost imagine the way they would have sounded decades ago. He doesn’t know why he’d _care_ to imagine that, but he does. He reaches the top of the stairs and there’s no - time warp, or paradox or whatever. It takes as long as he thinks it reasonably should and, for some reason, that’s what makes him hesitate. He’d been fuckin’ - walking down a _hallway_ for like two hours, according to his phone, but following voices upstairs was allowed?

There’s a gust of air against his stomach, he hears another giggle, and then he gets shoved back. He’s still gripping the railing and his hand tightens fast and hard - he steps back onto the step behind him, manages to catch himself with a loud “ _Jesus_ -” before he goes tumbling down the steps, and then he hears that goddamn _giggle_ again. There are two now, that high-pitched sound and then another, a little deeper, more of a cackle.

“Oh, you piece of shit,” He stomps into the middle of the hallway, looks around angrily and then throws the door to his left open, revealing a room with a few arm chairs and a pool table.

“James!?”

He doesn’t get an answer, but there’s a tug at his shirt, that cackle at his back, and he twists around to an empty hall.

He hears thumping in the museum and he doesn’t hesitate to walk over and rip the door open. “James! Are you in here!?”

The giggle sounds - right in his ear - and he flinches away, almost into the room, but manages to stop himself before he actually crosses the threshold. The room’s empty, except for a book lying open on the floor, splayed pages-down. Part of him wants to go pick it up, but the rest of him fucking knows better and he shakes his head, goes to step back and then gets shoved again - right into the room.

He knows the door is gonna swing shut before it even starts to move and his arm shoots out, rams so hard into it that he stumbles over himself when it gives under the forceful hurl of his body against it. He lands with a loud, angry _thud_ against the carpet, feels the skin of his forehead scrape where he slams it on the ground, and then a slow, heated drip. When he runs the back of his hand across the spot, the bandages come away stained with more blood.

“Mother _fucker_ ,” He snarls, struggles back onto his feet and racing after the laughter when it comes from down the hall. It’s a library, and it’s fucking empty, but he hadn’t expected it to be anything else. “Hey, you little _shits_ , why don’t you fuckin’ show yourselves so I can beat your ass!? Do you think this is a _fucking game_!?”

He feels another shove, stronger than before. It nearly shoves him into the nearest bookshelf, precariously balancing enough fucking hardcovers that he’s sure if it landed on top of him he wouldn’t be around for much longer.

With a frustrated snarl, he slips his hand into his jeans, wraps his fingers around the Swiss Army knife from the toolkit out of the van, and pulls it out. He flips it open, holds it tight in his fist and brandishes it with a scowl at the empty air.

He hears that cackle again, whirls around with the knife in hand, ready to fucking gut a ghost, but - of course - nothing is there.

“Piece of fucking _shit_ -” he starts to curse, ready to gut the goddamn furniture in his frustration, and then goes still and silent.

He closes his eyes, listens hard.

Under the sound of the creaking house, of the ambiance, he hears it again. A soft, sniffling crying.

This, he recognizes.

James.

He turns, slow, knife still in hand, and stares at the door across from him. It seems - imposing. Bigger than it is. He feels another tug on his shirt, trying to pull him back into the library, but he ignores it. The crying grows louder the closer he gets to the door; great, wretched sobs that make his heart shatter in his chest.

“James,” he says out loud, but it’s quiet. He reaches out, and the handle is hot, but he twists it anyway and slowly pulls it open. The kitchen is dim, lit by a pale glow in the ceiling and a single, burning candle on the counter.

He stares at it for a long moment, his grip on the knife loosening and then growing steadily tighter until the handle it digging into his palm hard enough that it almost hurts.

“James?” he repeats, but it feels...distant. He holds the knife out a little, steps into the kitchen. “James, are you in here?”

The crying is louder, he’d recognize James making such horribly upset noises anywhere, but James isn’t in the room. He follows it a little deeper, spots the door behind the old-time stove.

“James,” He says again, gentle, and lifts the knife. “James, is that you?”

The crying doesn’t get louder, but it does hiccup a little.

Brett blinks, slow, just sees the candle when he closes his eyes. He squeezes the knife, doesn’t know why he has it raised. He slowly brings it down, stares at the blade, sees it dripping. Wants it to drip.

From the corner of the room, he hears a low, deep growl.

He nearly drops the knife in shock. Slowly, he turns to look. There’s nothing there except, when he peers closer, he thinks he can make out two dark, burning eyes standing out against the shadows.

“James?”

Over the sniffing cries, he hears a bark. It reverberates all the way up his spine and he takes a step back.

“Brett?” He thinks he hears, small and scared from behind the door, a careful knock. “Brett!?”

“James!” He stops retreating, goes to rush forward, and then what he’d thought was all shadows in the corner _lunges_ at him.

He screams, pinwheels out of the way just as the shadows pounce on the spot where he was, and he hears a bang on the door, heavy and fast, but has to focus on rolling across the island counter, landing on his feet. The candle gets knocked off during his tumble and it rolls off of the counter, lands on the floor. Just before the flame goes out, it lights the shadow against the wall and Brett can just make out the profile of a fucking _beast_ \- maybe a dog? Closer to a fucking bear, hulking and massive and snarling and snapping at him. He doesn’t know what else to do except hold the knife out again, trying to threaten it into leaving him alone, but that just makes it more aggressive. The shadows make a bee-line for him around one side of the counter and he runs the other way, stumbling out of the door and slamming it shut behind him like that will help.

For a split second, he thinks it does. He thinks he made it.

And then there’s a massive _crash_ and the door buckles under an immense weight thrown against it and Brett takes off running just as the jam splinters and the door flies open to release the beast. It howls, like a goddamn _demon_ , Jesus Christ, this is the thing that attacked him a few days ago except for some reason it doesn’t look like it’s going to let him go this time.

He makes it to the staircase, gets one foot on the top stair, and then he hears a familiar giggle and he’s shoved again - and then he’s free-falling.

His toe catches on the second stair and it forces him down fast and without mercy. He _thwacks_ hard into the wood under him, goes tumbling down in a painful, horrendously loud display. He thinks he hears something crack, maybe his wrist, maybe his ankle, but at least it isn’t his fucking neck. He hits the bottom of the staircase with a dull thud in comparison to the loudness of the fall, and has just long enough to stare at the front door in dazed, pained awe before he hears another growl and he realizes that if he doesn’t move he’s going to die.

It’s hard. It’s _so_ hard to get his body to listen to him, to scramble up and keep moving, but he hears that heavy weight against the creaky stairs, and just - bolts. His only hope is his room, with the lock and a thicker door and a window if, at the very least, he has to climb out and then run to Trevor’s room from the outside.

He can hear the sound of claws against hardwood and he doesn’t - understand that, but he doesn’t question it, either. Just _runs_ as fast as he can. The hallway doesn’t elongate, but reaching his door still feels like it takes entire years. Yanking his key out is a terrifying experience, hands shaking, still holding the knife out as best he can while he grabs the handle. He can hear the angry pants and barks, _feel_ the vibrations of the beast bounding toward him through the floor, and he just barely fits his key in and twists, throws the door open and falls inside and then slams it shut and flips the lock before it’s shuddering under the same weight that had taken out the kitchen door upstairs. He can hear it scratching and howling, trying to get in, and the only thing he can think to do is crawl into the bed, grip a pillow tight to his chest like that will somehow protect him if the beast manages to get in and point the knife out in a horrified, trembling grip.

He remembers James’ voice, small and scared, through the door in the kitchen, saying his name like benediction, like hope. Remembers _running_ instead of staying to help. Feels like a coward, _regrets_ with every fiber of him. When he buries his head in the pillow and feels himself finally be reduced to tears, it’s painful and hollow and brings no relief. Just his sobs, the shaking knife, and the beast outside his door.

-

“ _Brett_!” James bangs on the door as hard as he can, twists the knob and pulls; gone are the frightened, lonely tears, replaced by both an encompassing rage at the sound of Brett’s cry of terror - what the _fuck_ could scare Brett that he’d make a sound like that? - and a sharp, icy panic that’s damn near paralyzing. He pounds on the door again, screams louder. “ _BRETT!_ ”

There’s no answer on the other side. It’s just silence, wretched and complete, and James lets that sink in for a moment before he lets himself get _angry._

He open palms the door hard, screaming as loudly as he can in frustration and pain and fright, practically pushes himself away to run shaking hands through his hair. Had he heard Brett at all? Had that been real? Brett wouldn’t - wouldn’t fucking _leave_ him in here, no matter what he’d seen that had made him so scared. Brett’s the most fearless person James knows, there’s no way he would’ve just _left him._

 _Ah,_ a nasty little voice whispers in his head. _Wouldn’t he?_

“Brett,” he says louder, turns and hits the door with his closed fist. “Brett! Aleks!”

 _They’re packing,_ says the voice smugly. _They’re leaving. Leaving without you._

“No they’re not,” James says out loud, and his voice catches as he glares at the door. “They’re not fucking _leaving._ Not without me, they _wouldn’t._ ”

There’s a loud thump from behind him that gets him to jump, gets him to spin around in shock as he looks out across the little room. For a second he doesn’t see anything, too preoccupied with his chest heaving and his heart thumping wildly against his ribcage. It’s a slow realization, when he’s able to find what’s changed about the room, and his stomach drops as he slowly walks up to the bedside table.

He recognizes the camera immediately. Its heavy weight is almost a comfort as he picks it up, turns it over in his hands. James has no idea how it got there, but he does know that it’s absolutely one of theirs; they had written “CC Camera 3” on the bottom in silver Sharpie when they bought it. He trails his finger over the letters slowly, a creeping thickness welling up in his chest.

“What the fuck is this,” he says, and he repeats it, angry, upset, _frightened,_ “what the _fuck_ is this!”

The camera clicks in his hands as it turns on and he damn near drops it, startled. The view screen is already out, and he hesitantly turns it with his index finger and thumb towards himself as the footage starts to play.

It’s Brett and Joe in Joe’s room, and they look like they’re arguing about something as the audio cuts in and out before finally settling. They’re both facing each other, and Joe looks even worse than he had the last time James had seen him.

But what really turns his stomach is the finality in Brett’s tone.

“ - _we’re leaving._ ”

_“But the van -”_

Not _but James._ But the van. James can feel his mouth getting thinner, can feel frustrated, lonely tears gathering in the corners of his eyes as Brett continues.

 _“Fuck the van! We’ll goddamn walk. I’ll carry Aleks, you get Trevor._ ” James swallows. _“We’re leaving this pit.”_

_“...you’re serious?”_

_“I’m dead fucking serious. I’m fuckin’ done with this place.”_

The audio cuts out again as they keep talking, and then the video, but in all honesty James wouldn’t have cared anyway. He’s heard what he has to, and it hurts. It fucking hurts so fucking badly that he curls over around the camera, clutching it to his chest until a soft wheezing noise is punched out of him, one long whining note, until his vision swims and he has to close his eyes against the torrent of pain and sorrow overtaking him.

They’re _leaving him._ They’re leaving him behind. He hadn’t heard Brett at all, probably because they were long gone. Joe hadn’t put up a single fight for him, and Brett hadn’t cared at all. Aleks probably didn’t care. He doubts Trevor cared. They’re just going to up and leave and save themselves and doom him to slowly rot away in this little room, they’re going to abandon him to his hellhole and there’s nothing he can do about it -

 _They don’t care about you,_ the little voice whispers again, and James almost can’t tell if it’s in his head or not. _Better to stay here, better to stay behind. You won’t bother them anymore. Do they really need you?_

“They need me,” he says quietly, hugging the camera to his chest. “They love me.”

_Then why are they leaving without you?_

He shakes his head, throws the camera at the bed and covers his ears as he closes his eyes.

“They’re going to come back,” he says loudly, has no other choice but to believe it. “They’re going to get help, and they’re going to come back. Brett was looking for me.”

 _Maybe out of obligation,_ the voice muses thoughtfully, as loud as if they were speaking directly into his ear, and James whimpers and presses his palms tighter against the sides of his head. _You did leave him, after all. You said you were leaving. Now they’re leaving too._

“I didn’t mean it!” James cries out frantically, and his heart is thumping too fast in his chest. “He just - he made me so angry, he _hurt_ my fucking _feelings -_ ”

_How very much like a small child you are. Do you throw tantrums like this every time someone hurts your feelings? Do you break things to feel better about it? Do you cry and wail like an infant every single time?_

“Shut up! Shut the fuck up!”

_No wonder they left. You’re quite insufferable._

James switches to covering his eyes, crouching all the way down until he’s practically in a fetal position, sat on his haunches and rocking back and forth. The voice has no notes to it, no lilt, nothing to tell him anything about the owner. It feels like his own thoughts, ravaging him cruelly until he presses his forehead to his knees and speaks as firmly as he can.

“They’re coming back. They’re going to come back for me.”

_Do you really think so?_

“I’m ignoring you,” he says firmly, wipes one eye on his knee. “Go away.”

For the first time, the voice laughs.

 _You can’t ignore what you already know, James._ It sounds amused. _You know the only way to escape._

James sniffs hard and keeps his eyes closed, shakes his head as he hears a loud clatter. He flinches hard when he hears the sound of something rolling, but it’s only when he feels something click against his shoe that he startles, looks down.

The little orange bottle of pills comes slowly to a rocking halt on the floor, and James stares at them for a long time before he picks them up. Aleks’ name, all in bold, mocking him as he clutches at the bottle in his hand until it creaks.

 _Stay with us, James,_ the voice coos. _Stay with us forever._

“No,” he says, unsure, but then with growing power. “No.”

_It would be so easy. You’d never have to leave. You’d never be lonely again. And you’d be doing them a kindness._

He throws the bottle again hard, hard enough that the plastic cracks and shatters and spills the pills everywhere just like before; they roll in all sorts of directions as he stands, panting wildly, looking in all directions for the source of the voice.

“No!” he repeats, firm. “Fuck you!”

 _You’ll see,_ the voice says. It sounds like smooth poison. _You’ll see, James._

When he turns around again, the bottle’s standing on the bedside table again, as if it never moved. James stares at it, and then screams in anger until his voice is hoarse.

The bottle doesn’t move again.

James hunks down. They’re coming for him. They’re coming for him. He just gotta...he’s just gotta be patient. Wait. Trust.

They’re coming for him.

-

Staying awake is difficult. It’s...probably the hardest thing Aleks has ever done, but _waking up_ is easy. He hears coughing, heavy breathing, and he’s suddenly awake and staring at the wall. He isn’t annoyed, aside from the faintest stirring of irritation in his belly, but he wants to go back to sleep. He wants tea, maybe, but mostly he just wants the sleep. He isn’t even _tired_ , but it’s all he wants.

Someone, Trevor, coughs again, and it sounds deep in his chest and painful.

“Trev, man,” He rubs his eyes, turns his head toward Trevor with every ounce of energy he has, “I’m trying to sleep.”

“Sorry,” Trevor says miserably, and Aleks takes him in with sleep-hazy eyes. He looks like death warmed over, bags under his eyes, so pale he’s green with it, eyes and nose streaming. He sniffles and it makes him cough again.

He’s close. Aleks can feel the heat radiating off of him even though they aren’t touching, and it’s making him sweat, too, even despite how cool he feels. He hasn’t showered in days, it sounds like so much effort and just the thought of making himself get up nearly bores him to tears, but Trevor is making him feel gross. It’s one or the other, and unless the shower is making him tea, Aleks isn’t really interested.

“You look disgusting, dude.” He rubs his eyes with a limp hand. “You’re _snotty_.”

“Says the king of the post nasal drip,” Trevor shoots back, and he sounds like he’s talking from the back of his throat, like his head is stuffed.

“When the fuck did you even get sick?” Aleks says, too exhausted to properly address the ribbing. “It’s been like, a day.”

“Dunno,” and he really does sound terrible, enough that Aleks almost feels a bit of sympathy for him. He sighs, leaves his hand up near his own hairline as he stares up at the ceiling. It’s so damn hard to stay awake, to fucking care about anything other than getting some rest, but everyone else seems intent on ruining his sleep. But he should at least try, maybe.

The thought itself is tiring, and he sighs deeply again.

“Maybe go, like,” he gestures vaguely, “take a hot shower or something. Let the steam clear you out. You know?”

Trevor’s quiet at that, and Aleks turns his head to watch as he rubs at his eyes too, making a face like he’s just short of crying. He’s seen Trevor in rotten shape before - the pepper spray gauntlet sure comes to mind, and that had made him cry too. But this is _misery,_ coming off him in waves, before Trevor just says softly, “Yeah. Okay.”

Aleks reaches out, runs the knuckles of one hand through Trevor’s sweaty hair.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he says, scratches with intense effort. It had calmed Trevor down before, but this time it only seems to upset him. He tilts away from it, rolls over onto his back and makes a gentle little noise that sounds almost scared before he uses the momentum to roll off the bed and onto his feet. He looks like an old man with the way he’s got to use the bed to walk, and standing up makes his exhaustion even more obvious.

“Come back in here after and try to sleep,” Aleks says, eyelids already fluttering again, and Trevor clenches his eyes closed briefly. He doesn’t reply, but just makes his way into the bathroom. The door clicks behind him, and Aleks is all alone in blessed silence.

He should maybe try harder to comfort his friend. He knows that. Trevor looks like shit, and Aleks should put more effort into making him feel better, even if it’s only to listen to him talk. But it’s all so overwhelmingly tiresome, like even the thought of breathing is too much work, and he closes his eyes again as he listens to the water turn on. Even if he _does_ just listen to Trevor, he might start talking about the fucking ghosts and shit again, and that’s plenty enough to put Aleks to sleep, too.

The sound of the water running is soothing. He’d said a shower but, after a few minutes of the faucet going, he still hasn’t heard Trevor make the switch. Maybe he’d decided a bath would be better, and Aleks didn’t much care either way as long as he just...cleaned up a little and maybe stopped being so loud in his sickness.

He pulls the pillow he’d been cuddling closer, buries his face in it and kind of wishes it was Brett or James, just because now that Trevor’s gone he can feel how cool the room is and he sleeps better when he’s warm. They were both usually pretty warm, either one of them would do, but both would be best so he could have them to either side. Still, he’ll make do with the pillow until Brett comes back and he can, maybe, convince him to just rest for a bit. He’d barely stopped last night, just passed out for a few hours and then got right back up, and Aleks had thought about joining him because he _was_ worried about James - in a distant, abstract way. But it had been too much, and he’d decided to sleep instead. Looking was pointless, James wouldn’t be found until he wanted to be, and the dog would stay with him until he decided to show himself to the family again.

He’s drifting off again, finally relaxed enough to sleep again, when Trevor pulls hard on the handle to the bathroom. The door shudders under a shove, he can hear the wood shake, and then Trevor tries the handle again before calling out to him.

“Yo, hey! I, uh, the door - open the door, Aleks.”

There’s a restrained fear in his voice, just enough that, much to Aleks’ vague irritation, he does rouse, again.

“Aleks,” Trevor says, a little louder, “Aleks, open the door.”

Aleks wrinkles his eyebrows, squints at the door a little, and it’s just...it’s so far away. Moving sounds like an effort so great that he can’t even imagine actually doing it. He’s already put so much energy into talking, into rolling over, into even just listening. Getting up to open a door? It’s out of the question.

“Aleks,” Trevor repeats, and then bangs on the door, “Aleks, something is wrong. Open the door, please.” There’s a brief pause, no more than a few seconds, and then he bangs on the door harder, “Please, open the door! Fuck, man, the water -”

Trevor cries out in pain, like something had _happened_ , and the fear isn’t restrained anymore when he yells Aleks’ name again.

Aleks blinks, slow and careful, frowns. Something tells him to get up and he finds the energy to sit, at least, bring his legs around so his feet are flat on the cold floor and he flinches, picks them up and back into the bed. Trevor screams again, more pained, more scared, and Aleks tries to clear the fog in his brain. Part of him is telling him to go open the door. The rest of him is saying that lately it seems like everyone is in trouble. Everyone is in constant peril, and there’s nothing to be done about it. If he opens the door, he’ll just have to open the door again at a different point. If he just lays back down, goes back to sleep, the problem will resolve itself. Either Trevor will get the door open and save himself, or he’ll die and Aleks won’t have to try to save him anymore.

That thought does give him pause. He doesn’t… _want_ Trevor to die, not at all, but as soon as he realizes that his eyes are heavy, too heavy, his whole body sags with it as he falls back into the pillows. They’re still warm, and he nuzzles into one and sighs. Would it be such a shame, though? Really? Trevor only works for them, after all.

“Aleks, _please!_ ”

“Nngh.” Aleks pushes himself off the pillow again, eyes squeezed shut. No. No, Trevor’s their _friend,_ he’s their _family,_ and he sounds like he’s begging for Aleks to help him. He - he should go open the door. He should.

But if he opens the door, and Trevor’s injured, then he has to take care of him, too. Trevor _sounds_ like he’s in pain, and Aleks tries to sit up before flopping back down. No, even if he’s not hurt, it’ll be such an effort. He has to go through all that trouble, and it’s hardly worth it, to take all that time just to make sure that he’s okay, to make sure that he’s not hurt and can get back into bed, it’s all just… too much.

Brett might be mad, if Trevor died. He’d be furious. But what does Aleks care?

No. He does care. He _cares._ He cares about everyone.

“Get up,” he mutters to himself, and it’s like his body shrieks _no_ right back. Just as quickly as that moment of empathy comes it’s taken away again, replaced with such a complete emptiness that it’s almost welcome. Aleks smiles dreamily and finally sinks back into bed, presses his nose into the soft, fluffy pillows. Better to ignore it. Better to go back to sleep. Trevor’s hardly his problem.

He can hear Trevor on the other side of the door, making terrified sounds mixed with pain, his nails scrabbling at the door as it sounds like he tries to flatten up against it. He’s still crying out for Aleks, but it’s weaker, more defeated, hurt and alone and afraid, and that’s when Aleks hears a door open.

He thinks it might be the bathroom door, and there’s a moment of relief, but then there’s the loud thump of bags hitting the floor and the sound of feet running. He can hear Trevor’s panicked cries mixed with Joe yelling “what the fuck!” a second before the bathroom door clicks open, and then there’s the thump of a body against the carpet, and Joe’s attempts to shush someone.

It’s all so goddamn _loud,_ and Aleks sighs loudly into the pillow and tries to sit up again.

“The, the water,” Trevor’s babbling, and Joe’s voice is low and soothing but ultimately ignored as Trevor shakes and grabs at him. “It, I, it was, it was fl-flooding the room, it was, I couldn’t, the d-door was locked and it was _boiling,_ Joe, it was burning me -”

“You’re fine,” Joe says, and Aleks finally gets up enough that he can see the bathroom door wide open, Trevor still in his clothes and absolutely dry, while Joe tries to keep his face looking straight at him where he’s crouched in front of him. Trevor’s trembling, but all Aleks can think is that at least he won’t have to worry about any of that, now. “You’re fine, Trev, look, there’s nothing in the bathroom -”

“It flooded!” Trevor repeats, and he sounds hysterical. “And it fuckin’, it was _hot,_ it was like, it was boiling and it hurt, it _hurt_ and Aleks wouldn’t open the door -”

He can hear Joe sigh, sounding concerned, and a little nauseous.

“Trevor, have you slept?”

“Stop asking me that!” Trevor’s voice is shrill, enough so that Aleks actually flinches. Jesus. He sounds like one of the children. “All of you, stop _fucking_ asking me if I’ve slept -”

“Okay, okay,” and now Joe sounds placating, soft. “When was the last time you did?”

It’s quiet for so long that Aleks can almost get away with falling back asleep, but then Trevor’s answer comes in the form of a tiny, frightened whisper.

“Not… not since that first night.”

Again, Joe sighs, and then the gentle sounds of Joe walking over to the edge of the bed.

“Aleks,” he says, and Aleks looks blearily at him. “What the fuck happened? Did you hear Trevor asking for you?”

Aleks blinks slowly.

“Mm-hmm.”

Trevor makes a soft, pained noise from the floor, and Joe takes another long breath in as his eyes close. He looks a little sick, looks a lot angry. Aleks couldn’t care either way.

“Dude! Why didn’t you help him!? I get you’re sick ‘n all, but so is he -”

“It’s _her_ , Joe,” Trevor broke in, “The lady, man, she _has him_ and she won’t let go, I told you -”

“Trevor,” Joe stands up, stumbles a little and holds his arms out to balance, “Those aren’t real. Aleks is sick. _You’re_ sick. We need to get you out of here.”

“They _are_ real!” Trevor yells, no less hysterical than he’d been a minute ago, “She’s - you’re - _Brett_ , you all - they _are real_ and that fuckin’ bitch has Aleks! He’s not sick, he’s being _suffocated_!”

“Trev, man,” Joe wobbles, takes a step toward the bathroom, where Aleks can still hear the water running, “Look. You need rest. You need to _sleep_. We’re leaving, okay? Pack up your shit, put it in the bag. Brett and I have a plan, we’ll take care of James and -”

Aleks watches through hooded eyes as, all at once, Joe goes pale and then red and then green, and runs into the bathroom at a speed that Aleks is tired from after just watching. There’s a pause, the sound of knees hitting the tiled floor, and then he can hear Joe hurling. It sounds wet and disgusting, hitting water - either the toilet or the tub, it could be either one. When he looks into the bathroom, he can just make out the tips of Joe’s shoes, so it’s more likely to be the bathtub.

Joe doesn’t stop throwing up for a long time. Aleks doesn’t exactly know _how_ long, but it’s long enough that he can lay back down and Trevor can stagger to his feet and say Joe’s name weakly and then loudly and then loudly again but with a lot more worry.

“I’m okay!” Joe finally chokes out, because Trevor won’t go near the bathroom and Aleks is trying to cover his head with pillows to block out the noise. It’s making him feel queasy, because he’s been around enough puke to know what it probably looks like and he can’t get the image out of his head. The cook had had the decency to at least die in the servant’s quarters, where he couldn’t hear.

“I’m okay,” Joe repeats, and then Aleks hears him stand up, hears the water finally turn off. “I’m fine. Just - not feeling well. Maybe something I ate.”

“It’s the man,” Trevor moans, sounding _tormented_. “It’s the _man_ , Joe, he and the Lady -”

“I don’t care.” Joe appears in the doorway of the bathroom, wiping a hand across his mouth. His eyes are streaming, the smear across his hand, when he drops his arm, is _black_ , but he looks determined. “I don’t _care_ if it’s a man or a lady or whatever. Did you get your shit?”

“I,” Trevor looks around helplessly, and that seems to be answer enough for Joe because he nods and lifts his shirt to wipe his mouth again and then marches back to the door to grab the bags he’d dropped. Aleks doesn’t want to watch anymore, just curls up and pulls the blanket over his head. If he tries, the sounds of Trevor still hiccuping drawn-in sobs and Joe gathering their things could maybe be soothing enough for him to fall asleep to.

He gets maybe a few minutes of the sounds before Joe has to run back to the bathroom to throw up again, and he’s on his knees for a longer time this go around. Aleks knows that Joe hasn’t eaten in awhile, it’s all Brett or James or Trevor would _talk_ about when Joe wasn’t around, so Aleks isn’t sure exactly what he has to throw up, but whatever it is must be painful because Joe pants and gags and, if Aleks listens a little closer, sobs sharply a few times before he stops.

“Joe,” Trevor actually approaches the bathroom doorway, stays at least a foot back but, still, he goes near it to try to get to Joe and Aleks kind of wishes he had the energy to join him. But, unfortunately, Aleks doesn’t, so he just lays in bed and mourns the loss of quiet. “Joe, man, it’s fuckin’ - he’s making you sick. Stop touching him. Stop touching him!”

“Trev,” Joe says, and then he’s throwing up again. Aleks rolls over, sighs quietly. This bed is uncomfortable. He wants to go upstairs, to _his_ bed. That was always the most comfortable mattress in the house. He never had a bad nap when he was laying there. And it was so close to the kitchen, to the stove and the tea kettle. And he would be alone, no one bothered him when he was in his bed.

“Okay...I’ll - I’ll finish packing up. It’s all - I’ll put everything in the bags,” Trevor says, sounding a little more put together, like he and Joe had been communicating somehow. Maybe they’d just been looking at each other until Trevor decided to make himself useful. Aleks wishes that they’d both go make themselves useful somewhere else.

He hears Trevor bustling around the room, Joe throwing up in the bathroom, vaguely, just vaguely, hears the little tune he liked to play while he napped, that sweet melody that always put him to sleep. He slowly starts to drift off again.

“Aleks.” Joe’s voice is as firm as the hand he’s got on Aleks’ shoulder, and he groans. “Aleks, wake up.”

“Don’t touch me,” Aleks mutters angrily, pulling his arm away. It makes him angrier than it ought to, the thought of Joe touching him, of thinking he’s _allowed_ to touch him, but it’s enough for him to open his eyes and sit up. “What?”

Joe looks like absolute shit, pale where he isn’t green and eyes red. It looks like he’s suffering through the aftermath of a particularly fun but ill-advised night at the old house, and that wave of nostalgia tapers down the anger for a moment. Aleks blinks at him, rubs at his own eyes as he looks around. Trevor’s back on the bed again, his feet still on the floor but his whole upper half lying down on the mattress. He looks like he could be asleep, which would be a relief if only that it would free Aleks of all his whining, but Trevor just lets out a sigh and says quietly, “We gotta go get Brett.”

“We’re gonna go look for James,” Joe says firmly, a hand over his stomach. “We’re gonna get Brett, and we’re gonna find James, and we’re gettin’ the fuck out of here.”

Aleks frowns, not sure if he likes the sound of that. He watches as Trevor lets out another huge sigh without moving. It seems like whatever wave of energy had been helping him move before seems to have bled out of him again, and Joe makes an aggravated noise as he tugs the blankets off Aleks.

“Come on, man. Get up. We’ve gotta go.”

“Just come back and get me,” Aleks says, immediately angry by the sudden burst of cold air, the sheer _nerve_ of Joe to just uncover him. “I’ll just stay here.”

“No,” Joe says, and it’s a little high with how angry he sounds. “Dude, do you not fucking listen to yourself? Don’t you give a shit that James is missing?”

And that… that makes him blink a couple of times. James _is_ missing, and that ought to give him some kind of panic, should make him feel scared or, or worried, or at the very least _something._ He looks down at his hands, looks at his jeans and his socks, looks how how he hadn’t even bothered to change before he crawled into bed again. He can’t remember the last time he even left the room.

“Yes,” he says quietly, after a long, long time. “I care.”

“You sure don’t fuckin’ act like it,” comes Trevor’s soft voice. He still hasn’t moved. He’s just lying slumped on the bed, speaking to the wall. “The Lady won’t let you. She keeps covering up your eyes and your ears and -”

“Enough,” Joe says, his voice trembling, and Aleks can’t tell if it’s from anger or fear. “Enough with the fucking ghosts and shit, Trevor. You’re not _helping._ ”

Another sigh, this one deep and exhausted.

“Sorry.”

“Look, just -” Joe runs his hands through his hair, checks the time on his phone before he leaves his hands on top of his head. “We gotta go get Brett, okay? All of us. And the sooner we start _moving,_ the sooner we can leave, and I don’t know about you but I am _so_ ready to leave.”

There’s more quiet, and then Trevor lets out a soft, wheezy little laugh.

“They’re not gonna let us,” he mutters, and Aleks agrees with him silently. He doesn’t _want_ to leave very much, and why would he? This house is much too comfortable. “They’re not gonna let us leave.”

This time, Joe grabs Trevor’s sleeve and with a haul, tugs him up into a sitting position. Aleks watches as Trevor sways bad, and Joe has to straighten him out before taking him by the jawline and forcing that eye contact.

“Trev,” he says, very firm, “I love you, man, but you need to stop that shit. Right now.” He turns to look at Aleks, still cupping Trevor’s face. “Let’s go get Brett.”

It takes an obscene amount of willpower for Aleks to get up out of the bed. He doesn’t want to, and quite frankly he doesn’t feel like he should have to, but Joe comes around the bed and tugs him up by his collar, with a lot more strength than Aleks would have expected from somehow who just spent half an hour at least puking his guts out. But Joe seems determined, and arguing would be pointless and tiring, so he goes.

He can move on his own, but getting Trevor to get back up is a trial. It’s like the clarity he had from the bathroom incident is just utterly gone; he keeps swaying a little bit too far to the side, looks like his eyelids are made of stone but he follows where Joe leads him and that, at the very least, makes things a little easier as they wrestles their shoes mostly on and then trudge their way down the hallway to the room where, presumably, Brett is.

It’s locked, though, and Joe thumps his head once against the wall before he knocks furiously. They hear someone gasp too sharply from inside, and Joe’s mouth thins.

“You better have found James,” he says loudly, “because we’re out of fuckin’ time.”

There’s a pause, the sound of footsteps, and the door opens.

Brett looks...different. Aleks can’t quite place it at first, but a few seconds of staring clears it up. He doesn’t see fear on Brett’s face often; Brett’s kind of someone who likes to hide his cards. When he’s bothered or scared or even angry, usually, he keeps a tight lid on it. Now, it’s plain on his face. He’s pale, his eyes red rimmed, shoulders hunched and back rigid. He glances to either side of the hallway, breathes out slow. He’s gripping the door so hard his hands are white and, at first, Aleks thinks that’s out of fear, too. But Brett looks them all over, shakes himself out, and Aleks can see anger rising.

“I found him.” He says, like it’s being forced out of him.

“You - wait, seriously!?” Joe practically shoves him to get into the room, “James? James!?”

“He isn’t here,” Brett grits, “He’s - I think I know where he is but...something. Is there. Something, I dunno.”

“Something?” Joe looks between the three of them, incredulous, “ _Something is there_!? So you, what, you _left_ him!?”

“I didn’t _leave him_!” Brett snaps back, so angry that even Aleks takes a step back, “I was _chased off_. Something - some _thing_ fucking _materialized out of the shadows_ and tried to _eat me_ , and then something _else_ fucking shoved me down the stairs!”

“Jesus,” Aleks blinks, and manages to lift his hands towards Brett before he loses the energy to do anything other than lean against the wall and blink at him. “Are you...okay?”

“I’m fine.” Brett shrugs, and it’s still stiff. “I think I might have fucked my ankle up or something. I dunno.”

“I’m...glad you’re okay,” Joe leans against the wall, too, and then bends over with his hands on his knees, “Fuck, _fuck_ , not now,”

“Woah,” Brett looks between them, “What’s - all three of you look like shit. Trev, did you sleep at all? You look like you’re on the set for Day 5.”

“Yeah.” Trevor stares, apparently having regained enough lucidity to be sarcastic. “I got so much fuckin’ rest, Brett. I slept for like, two days. Just all the goddamn sleep my little heart desired. I’m fit as a fuckin’ fiddle.”

“Stop,” Joe cuts him off, sharp, and then gags again and goes back to staring at the floor, crouches with his head between his knees, “Fuckin’ _Christ_! Okay. Okay, Brett. You - you get them out, right? Like we planned? I’ll go get James.”

“No.” Brett steps out of the room, slams the door shut behind him, and Aleks hasn’t seen him this, like...stoically furious in such a long time. Not since they got kicked out of the house in Colorado.

“What do you _mean_ _no_?” Joe rubs his face hard, “Brett, we had a _plan_. Not another night, right?”

“I mean,” Brett’s lip curls into a snarl, “I’m not fucking leaving this house without James. I’m gonna go fight a fucking demon, and I’m getting him. And _then_ I’ll fucking leave. You get these two out, I’ll be back with him.”

“I’m not,” Joe has to pause, clear his throat and then spit out a wad of black onto the carpet, stains the gold and dark red and none of them seem to care and Aleks doesn’t, either. He’d never been a fan. He’d preferred the wood flooring, but there was no accounting for taste. “I’m not...leaving without him.”

“Then we all go.” Brett decides, looking down at Joe and then up at Trevor and Aleks, “You two up for that? He’s in this - room or something, in the kitchen. Behind the stove.”

“Servant’s quarters,” Joe sighs, angry, like he should have thought of that himself. Aleks has no idea why James would be in the servant’s quarters. That isn’t where he belongs.

“What the fuck ever they are,” Brett tenses his arms, cracks his knuckles and then cracks his other hand, a little more gingerly, “That’s where he is, and that’s where we’re going.”

“I’m up for it,” Trevor scrunches up his face, “I mean. I mean, they won’t let us leave. But if we go, we go together, right?”

“We’re _going_ out,” Joe stands up, wobbly. “We’re getting James and we’re _going_. No one is being taken out, except for how we’re all taking our butts out of this hell hotel.”

“You got our shit?” Brett glances at the duffle, wrinkles his brow, “Is it even important enough to take?”

“It’s _here_ ,” Joe, arm around his stomach, pained pinch to his face, frowns, “I’m missing a camera. One of the ones from my room. But it’s not important. None of this shit is important. We can buy a new camera.”

“Okay,” Brett picks the bag up, hefts it onto his shoulder, “Aleks? You up for this?”

“Can I say no?” He asks, and none of their faces are amused. He wasn’t particularly joking, but he forces a smile. “Of course I am,” he lies. He wants to go back to sleep.

“Good,” Brett turns toward the front hall, “Let’s fuckin’ go, then. He’s been up there long enough.”

Joe follows Brett, nearly surpassing him in their trek toward the stairs, but Aleks’ plan to fall behind and then disappear back into one of the rooms to rest is foiled when Trevor reaches out for his hand and grips it tight. His palm is sweaty and hot, slick with it, and Aleks tries to snatch his hand back, _offended_ and _disgusted_ at the _gall_ , but Trevor won’t let him go and it eventually becomes not worth the effort to argue.

“I won’t let go.” Trevor swallows thick, and Aleks realizes that Trevor isn’t talking to him. He’s looking over Aleks’ shoulder, glaring so fierce through sick-hazy eyes and a sweaty brow that Aleks actually does a double-take. “You aren’t gonna take him. I won’t fuckin’ let you.”

Aleks doesn’t understand immediately; he squints in confusion, but then he’s overcome by such an anger that he tries to rip his hand out of Trevor’s again. He’s almost startled by his own reaction, but Trevor just keeps a firm hold and shakes his head, and Aleks has a sheer moment of clarity. It’s like dunking his head in a bucket full of ice water, like missing the last step on a staircase, it lurches him forward in shock as he wakes up for the first time in what feels like _days,_ James is missing, Trevor and Joe are sick, there’s something wrong with Brett -

As quickly as it came, it’s gone again, and Aleks presses a hand to his forehead, pushes against the lethargy.

“Trev,” he says, “I really don’t feel right, man.”

Trevor’s voice is quiet.

“Yeah. I know.”

Maybe it’s just the blunt honesty in Trevor’s tone that pushes Aleks up the stairs. Everything in him wants to duck out, wants to break off from the surprisingly strong hold that Trevor has on his hand. There’s another part of him that’s excited for the upstairs, because he knows that his bed is there, _his_ bed, the one he loves to lay in with a book and some tea and the dog at his feet, he can pretend that the world has faded away, that nothing else in the world matters whatsoever.


	7. Night 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> personalized-radio: HI GUYS!!! LOOK, WE FINISHED IT!!!!   
> this has honestly been SUCH a blast. working with myriadus is truly SO MUCH FUN. and i LOVED every moment of writing this fic. WE HOPE YOU LIKE THE ENDING!!!
> 
> myriadus: ahhh its done!!!!! we hope you guys like the ending ;D  
> ALSO I MEAN I ALSO LOVED WORKING W U BUT I HAVE ALREADY SAID THAT SO MANY TIMES  
> I'LL KEEP SAYING IT THO

They follow Brett and Joe upstairs, hand-in-hand, Trevor pulling Aleks along every time it seems like he might want to try and escape. Aleks doesn’t even know _why_ he doesn’t want to leave so badly; no, he’s not particularly a fan of this hotel, but it doesn’t seem as bad as they all made it out to be.

He catches sight of Brett’s limp, the way he steps gingerly on one foot more than the other, and squints a little. Chased off. Aleks remembers that much.

When they reach the top of the stairs, everyone hesitates for a moment, and for the first time Aleks can feel Trevor’s grip wavering a little bit. He looks over to the side just in time to watch Trevor’s head duck down before he jerks it up again with a sharp sniff, as if he’d fallen asleep in that brief half second. Joe’s still clutching at his stomach with one hand, like he’s about to be sick, and Aleks blinks hard.

“Behind the stove,” he says, but it’s like the words don’t come out of _him._ “Yes. Behind the stove, that’s where the servants live. Why would he be there? He doesn’t belong there.”

“Aleks,” Brett says, and it sounds forcibly patient. “We have more than enough people talking crazy shit with Trevor. We don’t need you joining the ranks.”

“I’m not crazy,” Trevor mutters, blinking so hard that his eyes are wide when he opens them again. Brett ignores that in favor of taking a deep breath and walking again. Joe’s close behind him, and Aleks can only watch as they step up to his room, dropping the bags just outside the door. But then he frowns, watching as they turn to the other door, the kitchen door. Damn.

“This… this is it,” Brett says, and again Aleks can hear _fear_ in his voice. Brett’s _afraid._ “This is where he is.”

For the first time, Joe’s resolve falters.

“...are you sure it’s in here?”

Brett smiles grimly, touches the scrape on his forehead that Aleks has only just noticed now.

“Oh, it’s here. Trust me.”

Aleks feels a tug on his hand and he turns his head, sees that Trevor’s slumped against the wall and started to slowly slide down. A bit perplexed, Aleks lets him, walks a little closer to accomodate the motion and then lets go of Trevor’s hand the second he feels his fingers going limp. Trevor lets out a sigh, wheezing and ragged, and that gets Brett’s attention. He turns around immediately, and then he’s crouched in front of Trevor, lifting his chin with a finger.

“Trev?”

“I’m… I’m gonna stay out here,” Trevor says softly, and even Aleks can see how weak he is. “Just… fuckin’ go get James. Let’s get the fuck out of here. Oh, stop your screaming and flailing about, you’re starting to scare me,” he adds, and it’s almost firm, doesn’t sound like Trevor at all. He looks like he might be chastising someone, and Brett frowns.

“I’m not screaming, bud.”

Trevor groans, head lolling until it rests almost on his own shoulder. He really doesn’t look good. Even Aleks can tell now, and Joe hovers nearby, looking unsure. Trevor just squeezes his eyes shut before opening them again, and they’re glassy and distant. He’s staring over Brett’s shoulder.

“Not you,” he whispers, and it’s his voice again. “Not you. The butler.”

Aleks can feel a sudden, icy burn in his chest at the sound of that. Oh, he knows of the butler, with his cruel eyes and wicked grin. He knows all about the butler, and Aleks takes a step back before he’s quite considered it. Brett, for his part, cups the side of Trevor’s face and tries to smile at him, gets a weak one in return, just a twitch of lips.

“Just rest, sweetheart,” Brett says, and he sounds… calm. Calmer than he had before. “Just rest. I’ll take care of them. I’ll take care of them all. Rest now.”

There’s something ominous about the words. Aleks doesn’t like them, but Trevor just smiles again, soft and unfocused as if the words are comforting.

“Yes,” he mutters dreamily, leans into Brett’s touch. “Yes, I can do that.”

Brett’s hand runs up to pass once through Trevor’s hair before he straightens up again, and there’s a different sort of look in his eyes. He looks determined, sure, but now there’s something else there that Aleks can’t identify. It makes him uneasy, makes him want to stay far away as Brett’s hand closes around the doorknob leading into the kitchen.

Aleks doesn’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen, never has outside of tea time. And by God, he doesn’t want to go in there now. He almost offers to stay outside with Trevor, whose gaze had gone vacant before he closed his eyes simply to rest, but he can tell by Brett’s posture, by the rigidity of his back, that it isn’t an option.

As soon as they step over the threshold, Joe presses another hand to his mouth, and the other one to his stomach. He curls over, gagging, and forces out, “I can’t be in here, it - it smells like death, I can’t -”

“Right here,” Brett says, ignoring him, striding over to the stove at the same moment they all hear a loud growl from the corner. Brett stills then, stands frozen in time as they all look over at the corner at the same moment. It sounds angry, and Aleks takes a step back. The dog _hates_ the butler, he knows. He _hates him._

Brett, however, seems to deign in that moment that he doesn’t give a single fuck.

“ _James!_ ” he shouts, loud, booming in the kitchen, strident with nerves but no less forceful. He still has his eyes on the corner, but he doesn’t stop shouting. “James, we’re here!”

For that brief second, it seems like he’s shouting at nothing. There’s no answer, nothing but the angry growls of the dog and Trevor talking distantly to himself outside, but then Aleks hears it. It’s faint, and it’s scared, but he hears it.

_James._

“I’m in here! Brett!”

“James!” Joe takes a step toward the door, lurches into the counter and then leans over and throws up, again. It’s on the opposite side to them, so Aleks can’t _see_ it, but it makes his stomach roll a little and he wrinkles his nose, takes a step back.

“We’re gonna get you!” Brett says loudly, edges toward the door and stops when the growling gets so much louder, “We’re coming! Are you okay?”

“Just get me out! _Please_!” James pounds on the door and Aleks watches it shake under what he can only assume is his fist and frowns. James shouldn’t _be there_. It isn’t proper. Aleks turns toward the dog, gives him a disappointed look. He really should have known better.

Joe groans and stands back up, seems to fortify himself before he staggers to the door.

“Joe, be _careful_ , the fuckin’ -” Brett starts to say, and then stops when Joe makes it to the door without being attacked. The dog always been a bit of a dull creature, but he’d liked Joe because he always gave him table scraps.

Joe yanks at the handle a few times and, when it doesn’t immediately give, he makes an angry noise, kicks it harshly. It shakes a little under his foot and he slowly lowers his leg, looks at Brett.

“You gotta break it down. Like you did in the old house.”

Brett straightens up, takes his eyes off the corner and moves another few steps toward the door with a grim determination. The dog snarls, starts to move toward him, and Aleks makes a sharp noise of disapproval that has the stupid creature backing down, even if the growling doesn’t stop. If getting James out of the room will make it easier for Aleks to go back to sleep, then so be it. He shouldn’t even be there in the _first place_.

“James, stand back!” Brett’s voice is tense,\ but firm, and when James answers he sounds nervous.

“What!?”

“I’m gonna break the door down, stand back!”

“But -”

“James.” Aleks watches Brett press his hand flat to the door, finally close enough that he can touch it, listens to the flat calm of his voice that hides the nervousness. “I _promise_. We’re getting you out. Trust me, okay?”

“...okay,” James says back, quiet again, and then the pounding on the door stops.

Brett takes a few steps back too, takes a couple deep breaths, and then Aleks sees him brace himself and run shoulder-first into the door.

There’s a loud _crack_ , the wood splinters and Brett winces, backs up.

“Jesus,” Aleks hears Joe mutter quietly from where he’s leaned himself against the wall, “you’re like a _tank_.”

“Thanks?” Brett offers, sounding a bit unsure, and then throws himself into the door again.

It gives with a groan of wood and metal. It was never very strong, and Brett, by contrast, _is_ very strong. Aleks hadn’t thought it had stood even a chance, but it does offer Brett enough resistance that he doesn’t go tumbling to the ground when it flies open. There’s a moment of silence where no one is sure what to do, with the door open and the dog growling, and Brett with both hands on the door jam from where he’d thrown them out in the second he’d had to catch himself.

And then James breaks it with a shaky, barely there, “You came back for me,” and throws himself into Brett. He slides his arm around Brett’s waist, hugging him so tight that he actually nearly lifts Brett off his feet, and Brett drops his arms from the door jam to hug him back around his shoulders, squeeze him just as hard.

“Of course I came back for you,” Brett says, and maybe he hadn’t meant to say it loud enough for everyone to hear, but it makes Aleks - pause. James looks pale as a corpse, shaking even where he’s wrapped up in Brett, and Brett sounds emotional - and James had sounded surprised that they’d come back for him. Why had James been _shocked_? They never would have left without him. They _love_ him.

He’s suddenly so heavy that he actually nearly falls to his knees. He reaches for the counter to support himself, and even that is such an effort that he has no clue how he does it. There’s just a second, a brief moment, where he wants to call for someone, where he needs help, but the feeling passes. He’s left hollow and cold, a void that _nothing_ will fill, an emptiness that the only solution to is sleep, and he looks up enough to see James and Joe hugging and Brett coming toward him.

Somehow, that scares him and he stumbles back when Brett reaches for him.

“Don’t,” he says, waving Brett’s hand away, “I need...I need to sleep.”

“No,” Brett drops his hand, looks a little hurt but no less determined. “No sleep. We’re leaving. Right now.”

“We aren’t leaving,” Aleks frowns, shakes his head slowly. He can’t _leave_. This is his _home_. He doesn’t want to leave - he just wants his bed.

“I’d like to fuckin’ see someone try to stop us.” Brett reaches for him before he can be stopped, grips his shoulder firmly and herds him out of the kitchen. He can hear James and Joe behind them, whispering together, and he can still hear the fear in James’ voice. The growls have stopped, at least, and that’s a relief.

When they get to the hallway though, they pause.

It’s empty.

“Trevor?” Brett says, and there’s a note of worry in his voice. “Trevor!”

They all hear it at the same time; a giggle, high and mean, coming from one of the rooms. Immediately they all make a beeline, Brett still holding on tight to Aleks and half dragging him along. When they get there, they can see that Trevor’s sitting in one of the chairs in the library, head tilted down, hands hanging off the chair limply. He’s not moving at all, and the rise and fall of his chest is faint.

“Trev?” Joe calls, starting to make his way toward him, “Trevor, you were supposed to stay put -”

“He’s dying.” Aleks blinks, shrugs Brett’s hands off. “Poor man. He was just _reading_ and now you’ve killed him!”

“He isn’t dying!” Joe snaps back, making it to Trevor’s side and tilting his head up with gentle hands. “Aleks, seriously, stop talking crazy. You sound possessed, dude, just chill out!”

Brett joins him at the chair, cups Trevor’s face and taps his cheek gently, worry plain on his face. James stops to stand by Aleks, and Aleks can feel him shaking, turns to look at him and finds James staring back at him. Closer, like this, Aleks can see the tear stains on his face, his frazzled hair, the bright, scared eyes.

“She’s sick, dear,” Aleks says, casually. “The children should have let her rest.”

“What?” James blinks at him, confused. “Aleks, what - what does that even mean?”

Aleks sighs, turns back to the scene in front of him. It’s familiar enough, her father leaning over her, calling her name urgently, trying to rouse her. She’s not long for this world, though. Pity. Aleks had liked her enough - she was quiet and did her job. It would be so much work to replace her.

Her father straightens up, turns to look at them both, glare so hateful that Aleks feels a shiver of fear run down his spine.

“This is your fault,” her father says, quiet.

“Brett?” James takes a careful step forward, “Is he okay?”

“ _No_!” Her father booms, loud enough that it feels like the whole house feels like it shakes under their feet. “This is _your fault_!”

“ _My_ fault?” James looks at Aleks, and then back at her father, “I’ve been - I’ve been locked in a _room_ for _three days_!”

“You’re the one who _ran away_!” The anger in his eyes is unparalleled, and Aleks watches as he hunches over, presses his palms to his temples and breathes out slowly, clearly trying to reign himself in. It doesn’t work, of course; he’s never been good at controlling his temper, especially not when his child is involved. “I don’t - we’re been looking for you, we haven’t, haven’t slept or - or ate, this is _your fault -_ ”

He seems as if he’s in pain. Aleks watches the butler hunch over and growl, fingers winding into his own hair as he tries to reel himself in, but Aleks has seen violence like this before, and he takes a careful step back.

“I ran away because of the shit you said to me!” James snaps back, red and upset. “What the fuck is up with you?”

“Guys,” Joe says, pleadingly now, “can we have this conversation outside? Trev’s real bad -”

“We’re having it now!” It comes out like a snarl, and Aleks feels the way that James recoils as the butler takes another step towards them. His boots click against the hardwood. “You -” He twitches hard, his own fist coming down against one thigh as he makes a strained noise. “You, you didn’t - you didn’t stay, you _left,_ I didn’t -”

“I didn’t mean to be gone for so long,” James says, takes another step back. “I didn’t mean for this to happen! It was an accident!”

“Guys,” Joe repeats, and Aleks can see that he’s struggling to get Kate to look at him. Her head lolls, and though her pretty dark eyes are still open, they’re sightless. “I’m fucking serious, you can do this some other time, we gotta _go_ -”

“If you took some responsibility,” the butler says through his teeth, still holding onto his hair, still hunched over, still fighting the anger that Aleks can _see_ boiling inside of him, a volcano about to erupt, the tension clear in every line of muscle, “and you had paid any attention to what goes on in this household, this wouldn’t have _happened_ -”

“Brett,” James says, and his back hits the wall, “you’re fucking freaking me out, man, please, just, let’s listen to Joe, let’s go outside.”

The butler makes a soft noise, and Aleks blinks. _Brett_ makes a soft noise. No. It’s Brett. The wave of heaviness hits him again, hard and fast, a fog that keeps him standing there. The butler always had such a nasty temper towards Aleks’ husband.

He watches as the butler’s fingers twitch in his hair, pull hard before he looks up again, and there’s so much strain in his expression that Aleks almost feels pity for him. He looks pained through the anger, like he’s fighting something. Aleks looks towards James again, sees how he’s pressed himself up against the wall as if he’s not sure where to run. The butler takes another step closer, and the tension has started to bleed out of him. He lowers his hands, straightens his back.

“Brett,” James says again, softer, “Brett, please. I don’t - I don’t know what’s going on but we can talk. This isn’t like you. _None_ of this is like you.”

“How would you know?” the butler says, and that strain is gone. He smiles, and it’s _cruel_. “When you can’t be bothered enough to _grace us_ with your attention?” He’s closer now, and Aleks can see how his husband - no, no, how _James -_ trembles. “How does it feel to be the insect beneath someone else’s boot for once?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” James says, quiet, breathless. “Brett, you’re scaring me. Come on. Stop.”

The butler looks down at his hands, turns them over and stares at the blood staining his knuckles. The expression on his face is almost thoughtful, but then he curls them into fists and it’s replaced by an unmitigated anger. Aleks takes another step back as the butler looks up again, face twisted with rage as he suddenly _shouts._

“This is _your fault!_ ” he repeats, louder, echoes against the wooden walls, and James shrinks back. “I should’ve done away with you a long time ago, you _wretched -_ ”

“Please,” Joe begs, and Aleks turns curiously to watch as he taps Kate’s face, watches as her eyelids shudder - no, it’s Trevor, it’s _Trevor,_ Aleks squeezes his eyes shut and tries to push through the fog, Trevor’s the one in the chair, not Kate, and it’s _Brett_ that’s standing there now _-_ and Joe continues, “guys, please, this isn’t _helping_ -”

“I’ve put up with you for _years,_ ” Brett hisses, and Aleks blinks again. It’s off. There’s something off. It isn’t Brett speaking, he knows that, it’s someone using Brett’s voice but the lilt is different, the tone; it’s eerie, and he can tell that it frightens James, too. James presses himself against the wall and nearly cowers. Usually he’d be fighting right back, but he looks locked in place, his fear getting the better of him as Brett’s - no, the butler’s? Aleks shakes his head again - the butler, he raises his voice louder, angrier, _dangerous._ “Years of my life, slaving away to your every whim and desire and what do I get in return for it? My daughter, worked to death, and not an _ounce_ of pity -”

“Brett, _please,_ ” James whispers, and Aleks watches Brett’s nose twitch, something flashing in his eyes before it’s gone again and he sneers.

“Were you going to throw her to your precious mutt? Was that your plan?”

“I don’t know who she is! You don’t have a daughter!” James has his hands up, knuckles just barely touching the wall behind him. “You don’t have a daughter, Brett, what’s _wrong_ with you -”

It’s the wrong thing to say. Aleks pushes at the fog again and hears the unbridled rage through the butler’s laughter, shows all his teeth in it. He sounds deranged, and Aleks can just barely catch how Joe’s turning Trevor’s head away - he’s woken up, or maybe simply found the strength to focus on what’s going on, and he looks horrified through the fatigue.

“You don’t _know,_ ” the butler mocks. “You don’t know, of course you don’t, you’ve never paid an ounce of attention to those below you, the people _less_ than you, you sit there in your armchairs with your _wealth_ and your _power_ but now you cower like a child -”

“ _Brett!_ ” James shouts, pushes off the wall, hands up, placating, desperate, “listen to me, babe, _please,_ I don’t know what’s wrong with you but we’re gonna - we’re gonna help you, okay? I’m here.”

The butler’s entire body twitches hard, eyes clenching shut before he whimpers softly.

“James,” he says through gritted teeth, and James nods his head. Aleks can see the hope in his expression.

“I’m here, I’m here, Brett, come on, man, I’m right here! It’s okay!”

Aleks takes a step forward, the fog starting to lift as he moves. This shouldn’t be happening. They shouldn’t be fighting like this, they should be _leaving,_ he shouldn’t be leaving James alone to fend for himself in this, he should be _helping._ He hasn’t helped at all the last couple of days. He’s left them to their own devices, had barely been a part of the relationship they’ve built over the years, and now it’s trying to crumble to pieces.

He takes another step forward, and all the pain slides off Brett’s face again to be replaced by anger once more.

“You don’t know anything,” he hisses, but James shakes his head.

“Fight it, baby,” he pleads, hands still up, “come on, I fuckin’ told you this place was haunted, but you’re too fucking stubborn to listen to me even though I was _right,_ and now you’re too stubborn to just, just let yourself get taken over by some _shitty_ ghost, right? You’re too fuckin’ stubborn for that!”

“Shut your mouth!”

“I’m gonna, I’m gonna give you shit for _years,_ ” James continues, and Aleks can hear the frantic tilt his tone has taken, like he has nothing left to fall back on but their old dynamic from before this place started to tear them apart. Aleks tries to take another step, but the fog is so thick that it almost suffocates him. But he has to get to them both, or something _bad_ is going to happen. “Years, Brett, you’re gonna be hearing about this for the rest of your fuckin’ _life -_ ”

“Shut up!” The butler sounds furious, hands twitching like he wants to raise them but can’t. “ _Right now!_ ”

“Tell this stupid ghost to _fuck off,_ so we can go home,” and Aleks can see how James is pushing, he wants to push, and he can see how it’s working. He can see blood starting to gather in Brett’s nose, circling his nostril before it starts to trail down slowly.

A woman whispers in Aleks’ ear then, says so very softly, _don’t you want to go back to bed and avoid this awful confrontation, darling? Men like them are so bothersome. We don’t belong here._

“I’m not leaving,” Aleks says out loud, and his body twitches. “I’m not _leaving._ ”

“You don’t know anything,” Brett says, still in that voice that’s his but isn’t, entire body vibrating with the struggle. “How _dare_ you, you _miserable -_ ”

“Call me as many fuckin’ names as you want, you know I’m right!” James’ voice is shrill with fear and stress, but he doesn’t back down. He’s still against the wall, but his back is straight, his shoulders squared. “I’m sick of this place, and you are too, we just have to _go,_ just - just come back, Brett!”

Again Brett’s body twitches, a hard spasm that closes his eyes and wrenches him to the side, mouth open and breath shuddering. Aleks watches his wounded hand curl into a fist, as he slowly forces himself straight again and glares at James through his eyelashes. He’s panting, hatred in every line of his face, and it’s horrifying, it’s scarier than anything Aleks has ever seen in his life.

“Enough,” Brett whispers, and there’s something underneath his voice that sends a shiver down Aleks’ spine. But James just shakes his head, doesn’t take his eyes off Brett as he keeps speaking.

“No, not until you _listen,_ not until you _give him back -_ ”

“ _ENOUGH!_ ”

This time Aleks hears it. Another voice, laced with Brett’s, lower and angrier and he has a second to process it before Brett _lunges,_ and hurls his fist directly at James’ face.

Everyone screams at the same time as there’s a solid _crunch,_ and for one horrible, horrible moment Aleks is sure that it’s the sound of bone meeting bone. He flinches hard at the sound, and he hears James let out a terrified yelp, thin and shrill, but when Aleks lifts his head from the protective circle of his own arms, he sees that James is only cowering. He’s uninjured, but he’s full-body shaking, eyes wide.

Brett’s gone… oddly still, as he and James stare at each other. His fist is embedded in the wall not an inch from James’ ear, but all the anger has left him. It melts off his expression, along with whatever color had been left in his face. Everyone’s frozen in shock.

When Brett speaks, his voice is tiny, scared.

“...James?”

James clears his throat, opens his mouth and then closes it again.

“I...” Brett looks his fist, back at James, and then drops his arm, slowly backs away, “Oh. Oh fuck. Holy - are you okay? What just -”

“Fine,” James rasps and closes his eyes. Aleks can see the tears that have gathered at the corner of his eyes, the way they don’t quite fall, cling to his lashes when he clenches his face up and then opens them again to stare at him, “I’m fine.”

He...he is not fine. None of this is fine. There’s a hole by James’ head the shape and size of Brett’s _fist_. Because he almost punched James in the goddamn face. The wood is splintered, there’s something _oozing_ out that looks suspiciously like the shit Joe’s been barfing for the last hour, Aleks has never seen James this fucked up in his life - and they played beer pong with Balsamic vinaigrette a few times - and apparently he just witnessed not one, but _two_ possessions today.

 _Let’s just go rest, dear_ , the woman’s voice whispers.

“Fuck,” He says out loud, “ _Off_.”

He is not going to _go rest_. He feels like - like the bucket of ice water is back except it’s his whole body. He feels _alive_ , he feels _awake_. He feels _angry_ , and _scared_ , and like he’s spent the last few days in this _fog_ that’s finally lifted. Like when you have a stuffy nose and can’t remember what it’s like to breathe clearly until the stuffy nose is gone and you can actually inhale again.

“What?” James doesn’t take his eyes off Brett, but he turns a little toward Aleks. “What? Are you gonna take a bat at me, too?”

“No.” Aleks strides forward. “I’m gonna fucking kill something.”

“I think,” Brett exhales, shaky and shallow, “I think I’ve already got that covered. James, I - I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, what the -”

“It was the butler,” Trevor spoke up, he and Joe using each other to stagger over, “It wasn’t - it was him, he wanted you to kill James, he wanted -” His eyes are wild with fever, looking between all of them but not _at them_. It’s like earlier, when he was talking over Aleks’ shoulder, like he wasn’t talking to _them_. “He’s so _angry_ , Brett. Kate’s - she’s trying, she’s _trying_ but he’s so _mad -_ ”

“Trev’s made friends with the ghosts,” Joe says weakly, and Trevor grips at him, feet nearly giving out from under himself.

“I -” Brett swallows, looks down at his hand and, Jesus, it’s _mangled_. The bandages have come a little loose, but it doesn’t matter - he’s bleeding from all over it, where the wood has bit in, the skin has split. His fingers look - just a little wrong.

“Your hand -” Aleks reaches out for him but Brett flinches back.

“No! Don’t - Don’t touch me, I’m not - safe,” Brett shakes his head, backing up a little. “Jesus, James, I’m so sorry, I - it wasn’t, it didn’t _feel like me_ -”

“It was -” Trevor starts again, but James beats him to it.

“It was the butler.” Aleks watches him shake himself out, like he’s coming to a decision. “It was the butler. None of this - none of this has been _us_. It’s been _them_. Trying to tear us apart.”

“Well, it didn’t work,” Aleks reaches out and, before Brett can stop him, grabs his shoulder. “Stop. You aren’t going to hurt us. We’re leaving, now. Everyone grab each other. No more disappearing.”

He reaches out for James before anyone else can say anything, just needs to - it’s like electricity when James grabs his hand, the first time he’s touched him in three days, the first time he’s _seen_ him since he ran out after that fight, that _fight_ that Aleks had just _watched_. Maybe it was the ghosts, or what the fuck ever was happening here, maybe - but he has to apologize. They don’t have time now, though, so he just reels James in by his shaking hand until he has him in a tight hug, can press a kiss to his pale lips.

“You’re...” James closes his eyes again, presses their foreheads together. “You seem more… awake.”

“Yeah.” Aleks frowns, presses harder, pulls him closer, wants to fucking - he wants to just _hold him_. James is cold, and he’s usually a furnace, but he’s icy. “I guess even I can’t sleep through possession, huh?”

“I missed you,” James says, and his voice cracks, and so does Aleks’ chest.

“Yeah,” Aleks says again, “I missed you, too.”

“Guys,” Joe breaks in, “I hate to cut into the reunion, but -”

“Yeah,” Aleks presses another kiss to James’ lips, just - just because he wants to, and he can. “Yeah, okay. Don’t let go. No one let go of each other.”

Brett lets him slide his hand down his arm, lace their fingers into a sweaty hold just as tight to Aleks as Aleks was to he and James and Aleks turns around, ready to fight whatever he has to. Trevor can barely stand, Joe’s still green and looks ready to puke his guts at the drop of a hat, James is still trembling where he’s pressed against Aleks’ side, and Brett is - well. His hand is probably broken, and he’s more shaken than Aleks has ever seen him. Aleks has to be the strong one, Aleks has to fucking - _be here_. Like he _hasn’t been_.

“Just.” Aleks swallows, stands up a little straighter, shakes off the feeling that maybe he’d rather go back into the museum, lay down for a bit. “Follow me. We’re gonna get out of here. Shut the fuck up, Trevor.”

Trevor doesn’t say anything, but Aleks doesn’t have to look to know he’s closing his mouth. Probably was gonna say some more bullshit about them not being allowed to leave. Aleks has never asked for permission a day in his goddamn life. He’s never been _given_ permission; if he wanted something, he had to fight for it, overcome a _lot_ of shit for it. If leaving this fucking hotel has to be one of those instances, then so be it.

He heads for the stairs.

It makes sense, in the grand scheme of the chain of people that they’ve made, that James lead. He’s the one in the middle, two to either side, but James has done enough on his own, Aleks thinks. He’s been _alone_ , in _this_ place. And Brett’s been so strong. All the fighting, all the anger and bursts of emotion that Aleks had ignored because it was too tiresome to address it, it must have been exhausting and terrifying, not knowing what was going on. Trevor - Jesus, Trevor is _dying_ , and Joe has been trying _so hard_ to keep everything together, to take care of James and Trevor and Aleks and Brett, and Aleks has just been - _sleeping_ this whole time.

It makes him _angry_ , and he’s never really liked feeling angry before but everything is so crystal clear and intense, after so long in that fog, that it’s almost a relief to feel it. To feel angry, and to feel fear. He’s expecting an attack, almost, as he leads them to the stairs, but he _feels_ like he can handle it. Like they’ve thrown it all at the five of them and they’re still here - sicker and more tired and hungry and broken, maybe, but _still here_.

No attack comes. There’s a brief moment where Aleks stumbles - feels hands on his back, hears a boy laughing, but Brett and James are both at his side to hold him up, keep him from falling. He’s braver with them, _for_ them, and he reaches the bottom of the stairs and plays lookout while Joe and Trevor carefully help each other down the last few steps and juggle their duffle bag between them. Brett’s holding his hurt hand close to his chest, he’s still limping and Aleks very carefully transfers his grip on Brett’s hand to James.

“Aleks,” James starts, voice panicked, but Aleks ignores him in favor of going to the front door. It’s a long shot, but - he tries the handle.

It turns and, for a brief second, he has _hope_.

The door doesn’t open.

He tries it a few times, pushing and then pulling, jimmying the handle, flicking the lock back and forth. He gives up when it’s made clear that the door won’t be opening for him, turns back to look at his friends.

“Door’s locked,” he says lamely. “We can try the room, but…”

“They’ll just - they’ll lock us in the fucking hall,” Brett looks pained, like he’s talking from experience. “Just a never-fucking-ending hall.”

“Okay,” Aleks looks around, “Okay, then we’re stuck with what we got. A window?”

“There are some in the dining room,” Joe points out, “Maybe we can use a chair or something, smash through.”

“Fuck, yeah,” Aleks doesn’t bother breaking the chain again, just grabs James and Brett’s hands in one of his and drags them all into the dining area.

The buffet table is set. It smells delicious, all the places at the table set and the food still steaming. It looks like a set-up for a dinner, similar to the one they’d had a few days ago, the first night James and Joe had been missing, and it turns Aleks’ stomach. He wants to fucking - flip the table, scatter all of the dishes and the food all over the ugly carpet and ruin it all.

Instead, he looks around for a window. They’re in luck, there’s one set up to let sunlight - though, now, it’s moonlight - into the room. It’s big, enough to fit an adult man through, at least, and there are a number of wooded ridges and panes, but fuck it. He’ll break through all of it.

He tries to pick up a chair, but it won’t budge. Much like the door, he can turn it and move it to and fro, but it won’t let him pick it up, like it’s fucking magnetized. The table won’t move, either, nor any of the couches.

“Okay.” He grits his teeth, turns to look at all of them. Trevor’s panting, shaking as hard as James still is, and Joe’s had to break the chain to just sit on his heels with his head between his knees, heaving. Brett is watching it all with a kinda lost expression, shocked and angry but not sure what to do about any of it, and James...James is starting to lose that glimmer of hope that’s been keeping Aleks going since they found him.

“We can’t leave.” James says quietly, defeated, “Trev was right. They won’t let us.”

“We’re gonna fuckin’ _die here_ , dude,” Trevor practically sobs, and it makes him cough hard. Aleks thinks he sees blood stain Trevor’s lips.

“Oh, fuck that,” Aleks replies darkly, looks around one last time, and then at the window a few yard away. “Fine. They don’t want me to pick anything up? Fine.”

He takes a deep breath, jumps up and down a few times to loosen up, and then crosses his arms over his head and neck and runs head-first toward the glass.

He throws himself through it without a thought - just hurls his body as hard as he can. It doesn’t hurt at first - just a hard feeling, an intense pressure against his back and then nothing, and then he lands on the hard ground of the parking lot, skids across the pavement, and glass digs into - everywhere. It’s in his hair, cuts up his hands and face, cuts through his shirt and pants when he rolls onto his hands and knees and gasps.

“Aleks!” he hears someone shout, and it’s enough to make him stagger to his feet, brush himself off, and then give the house two middle fingers.

“ _Fuck you_!” He shouts, as loud as he can, and then turns to look at the four of them staring at him with wide eyes. “What the fuck are you doing!? Get out!”

They’re all frozen in place, Aleks is almost afraid that he’s - suddenly not with them anymore. Like leaving the house cut him off, but then they’re scrambling.

“Brett first,” James says, “Your hand, you need - Brett, come on.”

“No, Trevor first,” Brett starts to shake his head but -

“You’re the one possessed by the murderous butler, asshole, just get _out_!” James yells and then shoves Brett out of the window with so much force that Aleks stumbles under his weight when he rushes forward to catch him. He’s gotta drag Brett out, his legs kicking wildly before they both land in the bush under the window, Brett’s loud cursing and angry, pained howl when he hits his arm against the ground breaking whatever was left of the crisp, cool silence of the outside world after Aleks’ shout at the house.

“Fuck -” Brett swears, clutching his broken hand close to his chest, and Aleks takes a moment to pry it away enough that he can take a look at it in the moonlight. It’s… not great, but if they can get to a fucking hospital, hopefully it’ll be fine. Hopefully. He doesn’t want to think about it.

Then he turns and gestures. Somehow, hilariously, Joe still has the duffle bag, and he passes that through first, and then Joe’s hands are in his. He pulls, but Joe’s not particularly heavy and he can grab him around the waist and tug. They manage to avoid the bush, but it still ends in Joe on his hands and knees hacking up one last glob of black onto the pavement.

“I hate this place,” Brett says from where he’s lying on his back, and Joe groans in agreement.

Trevor’s harder. James is saying soft words to him from inside, Trevor’s pale face in his hands as he coaxes him into pulling himself through the window. He’s heavy and he’s weak, but with the combined efforts of Aleks and Joe they manage to get him out too. There’s a few hard seconds where the leg of his pants gets caught on a shard of stubborn glass, and Aleks is ready to rip his own hair out when Brett calls him over and, with a pained effort, hands him a small Swiss Army knife.

“Thanks,” Aleks grips the blade tight, doesn’t think about _why_ Brett has this or how badly things could have gone if he’d pulled it out earlier. “You doin’ okay?”

“Just… just fuckin’ get everyone out. Then I’ll be doin’ a lot fucking better.”

Aleks smiles, tense and small, brushes a hand against Brett’s hot, sweaty cheek, and then goes back to helping Joe carry Trevor’s weight. Aleks saws through his pants with the knife and James lifts his legs the rest of the way out, and they get him over the bush and then with both feet on the ground.

“Thanks, guys,” he wheezes, and then lasts about half a second standing on his own before he just collapses down next to Brett, coughing breathlessly. Aleks can see Brett twisting his good hand in the hem of Trevor’s shirt before he tries to rub his back.

“Alright, come on, James,” Aleks says hurriedly, flapping his hands towards himself, and James heaves one huge, bracing breath and hauls himself onto the window sill, one hand clutching at Aleks’. His arms are shaking, both from the strain of Trevor and probably from the lack of food and water over the last few days. Aleks hovers carefully, scared to touch him, scared to let him go, but there’s a flicker of movement behind his head and Aleks looks up and that’s his mistake.

It happens so quickly that none of them quite register it for half a second. James lets out a yelp and then he’s _pulled,_ like he’s on a string, jerked back into the dining room and right out from under Aleks’ hands. Aleks grabs for him, the tips of their fingers grazing, and then Aleks is already trying to climb through the window after him.

James hits the ground with a hard thump and then keeps sliding across the carpet like there’s something holding on to his leg, and Aleks damn near _screams._

“ _James!_ ”

“Aleks!” James’ voice is shrill and terrified. “ _Aleks!_ ”

He comes to a stop in the middle of the room and Aleks is halfway back into the building when a frail, hunched figure steps into the pale light cast by the moon and the dim candles in the back of the room. Aleks hasn’t seen the old man since he checked them in, as far as he remembers, but he still gets a disappointed glare, like the old man has any right to be _upset with him_.

Aleks freezes, one leg in the building, one leg out, knife in hand but useless.

“Leaving so soon?” The old man steps closer to James and James scrambles back, closer to Aleks and Aleks reaches for him desperately, wills him with every _fiber_ of himself to reach back.

Their hands meet, tips of their fingers brushing again, and then James gets pulled back again, not as far this time but still far enough that their contact breaks.

“Let him _go_!” Aleks yells, tries to lunge inside, but someone’s grabbed his leg and won’t let him go, “ _James_!”

“I would,” the old man slowly walks toward them, still so slow. As he enters the moonlight, his already thin skin seems to go translucent. Rather than muscle or bone, it seems like he - almost transforms, but not quite. Instead of a man, he appears more a specter, a ghoul - empty pits for eyes, loose jaw, rotting even as he gets closer. “It is only, young man, that you’ve left your bill unpaid. We don’t accept credit, I’m afraid.”

James dodges the long, curved fingers that try to descend on his shoulder, rolls away and manages to reach Aleks’ hand again and actually clasp their palms together, lock their fingers. His face is drawn, petrified, and Aleks yanks him forward, wraps an arm around him and starts to pull him through the window. It fucking _hurts_ , he’s in a shitty position for _pulling_ , his leg is stuck too and someone grabs his shoulders and starts to tilt him back instead of pulling him because he’s still mostly inside the fucking window, too.

James grips him so tight that he feels nails digging into his skin through his shirt, too scared to even scream, and Aleks doesn’t blame him. James gets one knee out and Aleks gets his leg free of the building, again tangled up in the bushes but at least not _inside_ , when James starts to get yanked back again.

“No, no, _no_ ,” he groans and Aleks sees him kick helplessly at the slender hand wrapped around his ankle. The ghoul doesn’t even look like he’s _trying_ to pull but Aleks can feel James slipping out of his grip again, feels himself start to get pulled back in, too.

“You can’t leave a debt unpaid, boy,” the ghoul says, and his voice tastes like thunder and feels like a violent shock of fury through Aleks’ blood.

“ _Bill us_ ,” Aleks shouts, raises the knife and then brings it down as hard as he can on the ghoul’s arm. The blade goes through the skin of his arm, deep into his flesh, and Aleks, for just a moment, thinks that it will be useless. Just go through him, like he wasn’t physical, but he feels the resistance of flesh and it makes him sick to feel it but he just keeps the downswing going.

The ghoul screams like he’s been, well, stabbed, reels back with it, and Aleks doesn’t try to get the knife back. Instead, he just gives one last mighty pull and both he and James tumble out of the house and onto the concrete. Aleks has never actually been glad to get hurt before, but the bite of glass against his back - which he knows isn’t gonna be kind to him after the fucking window has time to settle - is… enough to bring more than tears of pain to his eyes. James sobs on top of him, shaking and heaving big, gasping attempts at filling his lungs and Aleks lets go of his body to grab his face, lean up to kiss wherever he could reach.

“You’re okay,” he says, trying to reassure both of them. “You’re safe, you’re okay.”

“You saved me,” James laughs a little, a little hysterical, “you fuckin’ - you went back in for me -”

“Don’t be fucking stupid,” Aleks snaps. “Of course I did, you _asshole_.”

“Fuck, dude,” James starts to laugh harder, and Aleks has to open his eyes, look up at him in the dark of the night and the light of the moon and stars, squeeze his face between his hands and come to terms with how fucking close he’d been to losing James, to losing Brett, to losing _all of them_. “God, dude, you - you’re crazy. You - Jesus, you stabbed him!”

“Guys,” Brett appears at their side, crouching so he can look them both over, hand hovering but not quite touching, “Fuck, we gotta go. Can you both walk? We need to _go_.”

And now that Aleks isn’t just - staring at James in wonder, he can hear it, too. A soft, but rapidly increasing in volume, static that he can quickly make out to be _screams_. Layers and layers of screams, all filling the air around them until it’s like the earth is shaking.

“Yeah, I think we can,” James staggers to his feet, offers a hand to Aleks that he takes easily and James pulls him to his feet. They don’t let go of each other, Aleks never wants to let either of them go again, and he reaches out to grab Brett’s shirt between his fingers.

Brett catches his hand, squeezes tight, but has to break away to help Joe support Trevor. Aleks watches him loop one of Trevor’s arms over his shoulder, nod at Joe, and then look back at them. He doesn’t look _recovered_ , but at least he’s able to take some _action_ , now, and that’s close enough for what they need right now.

“Just - just get to the road, fuck the van. We walk and we don’t stop until we can’t hear the screams anymore!”

He’s screaming, too, by the time he finishes, just to be heard. In the layers and layers of screaming, Aleks can make out a familiar voice - the Lady, the woman who wanted so badly to rest. He ignores it, and the pang of _something_ that the voice makes him feel, and starts for the road without hesitation.

He touches tarmac, gets both feet on it. When he reaches the other side of the road, gets his sneakers on the rubble and broken up rock that makes up the shoulder they should have pulled off on in the first place, the screaming cuts off sharply.

It leaves a ringing in his ears, but he doesn’t stop, and neither do any of the others.

“More,” Brett grunts, when he looks over his shoulder, “A lot more away, definitely more away, keep going.”

Aleks doesn’t argue. Just - goes more. More away. Until they can’t see the hotel at all, until even the trees that hide it are replaced with new trees. They don’t stop until Trevor finally collapses and brings Brett and Joe down with him.

There’s panic, before anything else. His eyes just roll up and he goes down, totally limp, Brett and Joe both yelping in shock and fear while Aleks and James lurch forward to help, but they manage to get him onto the ground and then Brett’s on his knees next to him, tapping his face with his good hand.

“Trevor,” he says loudly, sounding panicked through the forced calm in his voice, and Trevor’s head lolls at the touch. “Trev. _Trevor._ No. Come on, buddy, don’t do this, come on -”

“Wait,” Aleks says, has a hand on James’ chest to stop him from moving forward. “Wait, hold on, he’s -”

“Asleep,” Joe says weakly, and falls back onto his ass to laugh without any humor. He looks exhausted, miserable, _relieved_. “He’s just asleep. He’s - it’s okay, he’s fine.”

Brett’s eyes close as he takes a deep breath, hand still gently cupping Trevor’s cheek, and he just leans down and gently presses their foreheads together. Now that Aleks looks properly he can see the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of Trevor’s chest, can see where all the lines and creases between and around his eyes have smoothed out. He’s still too pale, still has dark purple lining the underside of his eyes, but he’s _asleep,_ not -

He doesn’t want to think about it.

“Fuck,” Brett says quietly, leaning back again. He’s shaking, hard. “Holy fuck.”

“We,” James has to pause, and Aleks can hear him swallow. “We have to keep going, we have to - to find a gas station or something, we can’t stay here -”

“We can keep going,” Aleks says, trying to be firm. But the experience is starting to settle, starting to really sharpen in his brain as he takes it all in. He can feel a tremor starting in his hands too, and he watches as Joe buries his face in his own, lets out a small, scared little noise against his palms. James has let go of his hand, but they’re still pressed close enough that Aleks can almost feel his heart pounding. “James and I, we’ll - we’ll keep walking, we’ll find something -”

“No,” Brett says immediately, shaking his head, not looking at either of them. “You’re not going anywhere without me _._ ” His voice is hoarse. “You can’t go anywhere anyway, Aleks. You’re cut up to shit.”

Aleks looks down at his hands, where his own blood has started to dry. He had forgotten about diving through the window, caught up in all the terror and adrenaline, but now that he’s had time to process, there’s a dull ache starting to pulse through his whole body. He feels a bit nauseous.

“Oh,” he says quietly, and Brett huffs a laugh.

“Yeah, _oh._ ” Aleks watches as he runs his good hand through Trevor’s hair, sighs with his eyes closed again. “Maybe James and I can go. You two can stay here with Trevor. You’re not going anywhere,” he adds, speaking to both Aleks and Joe at the same time when they start to protest. “Joe, you haven’t eaten in like, a fucking week, can you even walk anymore?”

Joe glares at him, but he’s silent. The adrenaline is starting to wear off for all of them, it would seem, and now a bone deep exhaustion is starting to hit. Aleks suddenly wants nothing more than to curl up in bed with Brett and James both, but the thought of sleeping terrifies him. Part of him never wants to sleep again, too frightened by the thought of just… checking out like that. He doesn’t want to feel that, ever, doesn’t want to just _leave_ them like that again.

Brett slowly stands again with a groan of effort, and immediately starts to hold his injured hand up against his chest. There are smears of blood against the front of his shirt from where his hand had brushed up against it, and that too makes Aleks’ stomach turn.

“Or we can wait for a car to come,” Brett says to the road, and James looks nervously in the same direction.

“What if… what if they come after us, though,” he says quietly, and Aleks finally sinks down to the ground as the ache in his body starts to outweigh the need to stay upright. He hurts _all over,_ and he feels like some of the deeper cuts might still be bleeding. “We’re sitting ducks out here, man, what do we do if they come _after us?_ ”

Brett’s quiet.

“I don’t know,” he finally says, and his voice is small. “I don’t fucking know. We’ve just… gotta find something. Aleks?”

Aleks lifts his head, and it feels like that simple action might send him reeling.

“Yeah?”

“Just…” Brett runs his hand down his face, sighs. “You and Joe just… stay with Trev. We won’t go far, we just… we’ll look for some signs or something. Okay?”

It’s a terrifying prospect, the thought of being alone on this long stretch of road by themselves, with he and Joe unable to even stand properly and Trevor a complete deadweight, but he doesn’t know what else he can do, so he nods. From near him, Joe mimics the action, now holding his stomach and looking worse for the wear.

Inching over feels like a lifetime of work, but Aleks manages to get to Trevor’s side, lifts his head as gently as he can and rests him in his lap, give him something softer to lay on than sharp, angry gravel. His forehead is still warm with fever, and his breath comes out as more of a wheeze, but he’s sleeping, and that’s nothing but a relief.

“Don’t...don’t go far,” He finally agrees, “Yelling distance. Don’t go farther than we can hear you.”

“We’ll scout,” James promises, trying to smile. It just looks like a grimace, but Aleks appreciates the effort. “Not too far. Hopefully we’ll run into some trucker or something.”

Aleks doesn’t answer, but he imagines his face says enough of what he thinks of that for him to not need to.

Brett and James look at each other, the only one’s still standing upright, and something that even Aleks can’t read passes between them before they’re both walking down the road.

Aleks watches them go, Joe’s head on his shoulder, Trevor sleeping deeply in his lap, and doesn’t take his eyes off of them even long after they disappear into dim shapes in the darkness.

-

Things are...electric, almost. James’ still so _cold_ , even after having been rescued from the room, and the chill of the night isn’t helping. He doesn’t like being away from the others, can’t help but check over his shoulder every few seconds just to check that he can still vaguely make them out if he strains his eyes. The feeling that they’re still in danger makes all the hairs on his arms stand on end, keeps his nerves running him in circles in his mind.

Brett is close, but there’s a space between them that James isn’t sure he wants to close but isn’t sure he wants to leave, either. A week ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to reach out and grab Brett’s hand, but he can still hear the crunch of the wood splintering next to his head and he can still taste the copper from how hard he’d bitten his tongue in fear.

“Why the fuck is this road so empty?” Brett mutters under his breath, sounding too tired to be properly angry, and James knows exactly how that feels.

“Because, in case the last week hasn’t clued you in, we’re fuckin’ _cursed_.”

Brett laughs, and it’s low and pained. He wipes at his face and it’s too dark to make the actual crimson out, but James knows that the blood under his nose and down his lips and chin is smeared from it.

“Cut us a break, man,” Brett tilts his head up, like he’s talking to the sky, “Haven’t we been through enough?”

“We’re still mostly alive,” James kicks a rock in front of him, listens to it skid across the ground. “I don’t think we’re allowed to break out of a horror movie until at least one person dies.”

“Yeah, well,” Brett stops, drops his head so he’s staring at the ground, kicking his own rock, “Despite my best efforts, no one is fucking dead and let’s try to keep it that way.”

“Hey,” James stops to, crosses his arms because he has nothing better to do with them. “Don’t… that wasn’t your fault. None of this was anyone’s fault. Don’t put that on yourself.”

“I almost decapitated you with my fist, James,” Brett has been cradling his broken hand - and it was broken, James had heard the bones crack himself - to his chest, but he pulls it away to look at it, tilt his arm slow so he can get a better idea of it. “That’s not even talking about all the - fuck, the shit I _said_. Jesus, I’m so sorry, man.”

“Don’t,” James repeats, more firm, and closes that space, nudges him carefully, “Don’t start apologizing, Brett. It wasn’t _you_.”

“It felt like me.” Brett pulls his arm back to his chest. “It didn’t feel like someone else’s anger. It felt like mine, like it was all...rational and normal, even when I _knew_ it wasn’t. I could have _killed_ you.”

“Did you,” James frowns, tries to figure out how to approach it, what he wants to know, and then remembers that subtlety had never been his strong suit. “Did you mean any of it? That stuff you said?”

“ _No_ ,” Brett turns to face him so sharply that James flinches, “Jesus, James, _no_ , I didn’t _mean_ any of it. I don’t - I don’t think you’re cheating on us, and I don’t care if you still talk to Jordan. And that, fuck, that shit I said about you being -” He cuts himself off, voice raising the more he goes until he finally has to stop before he’s yelling. He starts again a few seconds later, after James has watched him take a moment to collect himself. “None of it, James. It was all bullshit.”

“Okay,” James takes a sharp breath, resists the urge to lay his hands over his heart just to see how hard it’s beating. “Yeah, I mean, okay, I didn’t mean any of it, either. So.”

“Look,” Brett carefully takes his hand in his, squeezes so tight that his bones feel a little like they’re grinding together. James doesn’t particularly care. “I didn’t mean anything that came out of my mouth. I love you. All of you - the bitching and the yelling and all of it.”

“So, you don’t, I dunno,” James twists his lips a little, tries to keep it together because, for fuck’s sake, he’s cried enough these last few days. “You don’t hate me?”

“That’s...the exact opposite of what I just said, idiot.” Brett laughs a little, and it’s incredulous and fond and so sad. He lets go of James’ hand and brings it up to his face, doesn’t actually touch until James leans into it, and then he carefully pulls James into a light, slow kiss. James maybe has to scrunch his face up to avoid a few more tears, cups Brett’s hand against his cheek and presses it down a little harder, basks in the gentle touch.

“I love you.” Brett swipes his thumb along his cheekbone, pulls away and then presses another, shorter kiss to James’ forehead. “I know that’s - fuck, _I_ wouldn’t believe me if I heard me say that after treating myself how I treated you. But I do. Fucking Christ, I do.”

Truth be told, the hotel hadn’t been _that_ scary. Well. It _had been_ , but it hadn’t been until James had been locked up and alone that he’d experienced the actual fear of thinking he was going to die alone and not cared about that, he’d actually felt like the hotel was gonna _win_ or some shit. It had turned he and Brett against each other, turned Aleks against them both, isolated him from Trevor and even Joe, to an extent. It had done a good job of making James feel like fucking shit, like he was back in that place in his life when the people he cared about didn’t care about him back, and he’d _hated_ it. But he’d never stopped believing that they’d come for him. No matter what the voice said, what they tried to get him to do, he hadn’t been shaken. They _wouldn’t_ leave him. Even if only so they could yell at him.

“I know.” He leaned forward, just enough to kiss him again, and it was bloody and gross and painful, and one of the best kisses of his life. “I love you, too.”

“We’re not very good at this scouting thing,” Brett laughs again, a touch more bright than before.

“I think they’ll forgive us if we can find _something_ ,” James offers his hand and Brett takes it, slots their fingers together and then tangles them up when that makes their hold on each other too sweaty.

Brett starts to answer, say something that James is sure will be some kind of funny, and then freezes.

“What?” James frowns again, turns on his heels. It doesn’t take him more than a second to realize what’s made Brett speechless.

From the far off distance, James sees headlights.

It seems for a moment like they’re both frozen in place, and then James takes off running. Brett’s right behind him, his gait a little uneven from his limp, and the gravel crunches underneath their feet as they move. James has no idea who this could be, or even if they’re safe, but he’s hoping that between the state of Brett and then the state of the others, _someone_ will take pity on them and drive them to a fucking hospital. Or given that there’s five of them, at least call an ambulance.

As soon as the headlights hit them though, the horn honks. Neither of them have started trying to flag it down, but as the vehicle slows to a stop, Brett starts _laughing._ It sounds hysterical, and a little bewildered.

“Oh,” he says through giggles, “oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

Lindsey throws open the door to their own van, looking startled. Anna’s in the front seat with her, and Asher and Jakob poke their heads out from the second row.

“What in the _fuck_ happened to you two?” Lindsey asks, and she sounds concerned. “Are you okay?”

Brett just stares at her, still laughing, and James really starts to take in for the first time what they must look like. Brett’s covered in blood and bruises, James knows his own hair is a travesty and he looks - well, probably like he hasn’t eaten or showered in three days. Lindsey immediately starts to look around, looks back at them.

“Where are the others?”

“They’re, they’re down the road,” James says weakly, doesn’t have it in him to be properly angry. “Took you long enough.”

Lindsey’s eyebrows furrowed.

“You only called me like a few hours ago. What the fuck happened? Did you wreck the van? I thought you said it _broke down,_ and you were stopping at a hotel?” The questions are a bit panicked, and already she’s unbuckling her seatbelt, but Brett holds up his good hand to stop her. James looks at him, can see the confusion in his eyes.

“...when did we leave?”

Lindsey looks confused, and Jakob answers from the back.

“You guys were only a couple of hours ahead of us,” he says, and Asher nods silently. “Seriously, what the fuck? Are you guys okay?”

James turns just in time to see Brett bury his face in his hands, and Anna moves forward from the front seat, sounding shocked.

“Brett, what happened to your hand?”

Brett says something into his palms before looking up again, and he looks… beyond exhausted. James can’t even blame him. Everyone looks confused, and Brett sighs, lowers his hands again.

“I broke it,” he says, and doesn’t quite smile. “Can we go get the boys and then head to a hospital? Maybe?”

Lindsey immediately nods, looking in the back until Asher gets the hint and tugs the van door open, makes room with Jakob for the two of them as they climb into the back. James clambers into the van, Brett giving him a gentle shove, and once Brett’s inside Lindsey doesn’t really wait for the door to close; she just throws the van into drive and cruises as safely as she can until the other three are illuminated by the headlights.

James is… surprised, how easy it is after that. There are twin cries of shock from the backseat and then Asher and Jakob are jumping out of the van, Anna struggling with her seatbelt to join them as quickly as she can, too. James isn’t sure that what he feels is fear, but he keeps looking towards what they left in the distance, and he keeps one hand wrapped tightly in Aleks’ collar.

The hardest part is getting Trevor awake again. He makes soft, scared little noises in his sleep as Asher and Jakob try to rouse him, and he sounds so much like a frightened child lost in a nightmare that James feels his heart clench up. Brett has to join the effort, and when Trevor finally opens his eyes they’re still too bright, and he looks dazed.

“We’re going to the hospital, Trev,” Brett says softly, and after a moment Trevor nods. James helps Asher and Jakob lift Trevor to his feet, because Brett’s hand is still fucked, and he sways immediately. Jakob’s tall enough to grab him and Asher’s strong enough to support him, and they manage with the combined efforts of the three of them to lay him across the back seat. As soon as his head hits the cushion of the seat he’s out again, but he looks… better, at least. Better than he had at the hotel. Jakob fumbles around in their bags for a second, produces a hoodie and stuffs it under Trevor’s head as a makeshift pillow.

Next to the van, Anna’s talking to Joe quietly, sounds concerned, but he just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair. James watches as she helps him into the van too, and part of him wants to join him bad. Joe was there for him, even if Aleks and Brett hadn’t _chosen_ to be the sort of cruel that they were, but they lock eyes and Joe smiles weakly at him before closing them and resting his head against the cool glass of the window. He looks worse in the moonlight, pale and drawn, and James sighs, runs a hand through his hair.

“Come on,” Lindsey says to Brett, and she has a gentle hand around his wrist. “God, this looks bad. What did you do?”

“I punched a wall,” he tells her, and there’s _exhaustion_ in his tone, bone deep and heavy. “Really hard.”

Her mouth thins, and she sighs.

“You’ve got… quite a story to tell,” she says, addresses the three of them, and they nod. “Fine. We’ll hear all about it at the hospital. Come on.” Her voice has gone soft, though, and she still looks concerned. “You guys are safe now, okay? We got you.”

“Where were you four days ago, though?” James mutters, and Lindsey frowns at him, confusion obviously on her face.

“I was _with you_ four days ago? Seriously, did you - did you hit your head? Anna, find me the nearest hospital.”

“You weren’t -” James starts, and then remembers what she’d said when they’d pulled up. A few hours ago, that’s when she’d said they’d called, but that wasn’t...right. And why would they still have all the shit in the van? All the merch, the same equipment, nothing different from when he’d helped them pack it up. “Linds, what - how long has it been since we told you the van went out?”

“A few hours, dude,” Jakob answers for her, looking between him and Trevor with wide, too-bright eyes, “It’s been like three or four hours, maybe!”

“Okay,” James says, because he isn’t quite sure how else to respond. He’s - he and Joe had experienced time lost in the hotel. Why wouldn’t it be on a bigger scale outside of it? But Brett is shaking his head, looking ready to argue, so James just reaches out, touches his shoulder and shakes his head when Brett looks at him. It isn’t worth it. They’ll...they’ll figure it out when they get to the hospital.

For now, Jakob and Asher are piled on top of each other and Joe’s sitting in the back, Trevor’s legs on his lap. Annah and Lindsey take the front seats and Brett and James settle themselves into the rest of the seat so Aleks can crawl on top of them, sit in James’ lap and lean his head on James’ chest while Brett clutches his legs like he’s going to disappear if he doesn’t hold on. He leans his head on Brett’s shoulder, closes his eyes and just...tries not to lose his mind.

There are days that happened but apparently _didn’t_ happen, and wounds and somehow they’re going to have to explain to someone that they’re all severely dehydrated and Joe’s fuckin’ starved, and Trevor hasn’t slept in a week even though they have _witnesses_ that say that none of that is true, and it’s...it’s so much. It’s a lot. But they’re in the van and he can hear Trevor snoring and Lindsey and Anna muttering between each other and Jakob and Asher are so close that he can feel their warmth against his side, and Aleks is safe in his arms and Brett’s at his side, and he can hear Joe’s quiet breathing behind them.

It’s not okay, none of this is fucking okay, but it’s finally fucking _safe_ and that’s...that’s more than he can ask for, right now.

He falls asleep all at once, between one breath and the next, exhaustion and the release of fear doing more to close his heavy eyes than any sleeping pill ever had.

-

It’s a quiet, tense ride. Asher can see that James and Aleks are both passed out, that Brett isn’t really _there_ , even if his eyes are kind of open, and Trevor is… Jesus, Trev is something. When Asher looks in the back, he can see Joe slumped against the window, shoulders slowly rising and falling with what he can only assume are snores that he can’t quite hear.

“Oh, shit,” Lindsey says, and it’s quiet but it’s a little relieved - enough to catch Asher’s attention where he’s stationed on Jakob’s lap, because he’s older but Jakob is six feet tall and wouldn’t have fit otherwise. “Look, guys, it’s the van!”

None of the others stir, but Asher looks out of the window and - yeah, it’s the van. There’s a big building behind a few trees, a little light on in the small window by the door that says ‘rooms available’ in flickering green neon. It looks like a quiet place, a few windows across the front, nothing that pops out at him to leave any sort of impression. The van’s at the edge of the parking lot, and the doors are still closed - thank god. They’d had nothing with them but a duffle bag with a single camera in it and Asher wasn’t gonna be the one to ask any of them, in their bloody clothes and their terrified eyes, where the rest of the equipment was, but he’d wondered.

“Shit, stop, Linds,” he says, quiet but insistent. “We can’t just leave this shit. Drop me off and then get them to the hospital, I’ll stay with the stuff and you can just get me after.”

“I’m not leaving you here alone, Asher!” Lindsey slows to a stop but doesn’t unlock the doors, “It’s dark and something just - there could be, like, a crazy killer on the loose! Look at what happened to our friends!”

“I’ll stay with him,” Anna speaks up. “It’s important equipment, Linds, we can’t leave it. Asher’s right.”

“Guys, I don’t think this is a good idea…” Jakob tightens his arm around Asher’s waist, but doesn’t try to stop him when he inches the door open and climbs out of the van and back into the night air. Anna gets out, too, and they’re careful closing the doors to not make a lot of noise, not wake the others up when they so obviously need the rest.

“It’s just a few hours,” Asher promises through the open passenger window. “Just, fuck, get them to the hospital. We’ll see about maybe renting a room or something in this sleazy joint.”

“Just.. stay in the van,” Lindsey gives in, and she still looks worried. “Something’s...not right. Don’t get a room, just stay in the van. I’ll be back in a few hours. Okay?”

“Okay, mom,” Asher scoffs, but he steps away from the van, slings an arm over Anna’s shoulders and she leans into his side for warmth as Lindsey gives them one final, worried look, and then drives away.

“Come on, Ash,” she nudges him, smiling her small smile. “Let’s go see what’s up with the van. Maybe we can figure out what happened.”

“Yeah,” Asher agrees, turns with her and heads into the parking lot and toward the van. There’s a little something in the back of his mind, just an itch, that says maybe they could just open the door, crawl into the back seat, and take a nap instead. Equipment counting sounds so boring.

But he ignores it, smiles at her when she glances over her shoulder at him, and they open the doors of the van together. Lindsey would be back in a few hours. Until then, they could try to get _something_ figured out.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks.


End file.
